What Binds Us
by Shadow182
Summary: Vilkas and the Dragonborn set out on a mission to avenge Kodlak's death. But having been at odds since the day they met and emotions already running high, it's not long before their companionship is pushed to breaking point and the truth of their natures revealed. ("To Break a Curse" prequel. DragonbornxVilkas, rated for adult themes, violence, minor gore, sexual themes. NSFW)
1. Reopened Wounds

**Back at it again with the Skyrim fics. This is another of those stories that has had massive chunks and scenes sitting on my laptop for... literally years in some cases. Thanks to the conclusion of other projects my attention has been moved back - I'm also using this new motivations to get over the writers block for Saints Row (and I know I've been saying that for ages, hah)**

 **This tale takes place about a year or less before "To Break A Curse" but is something of a bottle episode (or... fiction, as it were).  
**

* * *

 **LYRIELLE**

There had always been something constricted about Vilkas. His expression was ever stony and impassive, and his body unnaturally still as if every movement needed a purpose. But it was never a relaxed stillness; those eyes always seemed pinched, never having a single moment of peace.

Even when I had walked into the catastrophic scene in Jorrvaskr in the wake of the fight, saw the wounded hunched over bloody cuts, saw Kodlak laid out on the stone… Vilkas strode over and the fury was radiating from him, but not even his voice really betrayed it.

Everyone who spoke of him - everyone other than Kodlak - seemed under the impression he was a centred and controlled sort of person. But when I looked at him I couldn't help imagining a great pressure boiler, constantly on the verge of rupturing and scalding everything around him. He had come close, and when he told me we were going after the Silverhand who had attacked them and killed Kodlak, I felt it was somehow the first crack.

Vilkas couldn't be swayed to wait, and I was in too much shock to truly put up a fight. I had a chance to wash, and change my travelling gear. I pulled on my black woollen tunic, dark leather stays over the top, hide trousers and my dark fur gauntlets and boots. The snows of the north would be blinding, so I drew on my kohl 'warpaint'. Over the eyes, sweeping down onto my cheeks and tapering off on my neck. I wasn't in much of a mood for colour…

 _'Dress warm,'_ he'd said, _'They hide like rats in Driftshade Refuge far north… we've waited too long to strike them at their heart."_

"Kynareth speed my journey," I murmured tiredly; my body was as weary as my spirit.

Kodlak… how could I have been so late? How could I have not woken an hour earlier from that campsite? When I had been so sure I could walk through the gates, I could hand him the vile witch's head, and he could have had his cure…

There was a horrible twist in my heart and I pressed my gloved hands on the table…

 _'He's in the wilds now… he may never see Sovngarde. He wouldn't, because I was too damn slow!'_

Every possible scenario crossed my mind; if I hadn't stopped at that river, if I hadn't taken so long, walked that shortcut instead, walked through the night instead of camping, done anything, one thing, differently! And those 'hunters'… those bastards invaded Jorrvaskr itself, the arrogance, the cruelty…

I blinked sadly. It was to be expected. They were werewolf hunters, were they not? Our enemy. Yes, they had killed Kodlak… but he would have still been alive now, with his cure in his hands, if not for me. If I had just been a single hour earlier…

Swallowing the aching lump of guilt in my throat I felt tears stinging my eyes, and I scrambled to shove provisions into my light travel pack. Then with shaking hands I braided and bound my hair up firmly at the back of my head.

I heard Vilkas approaching, the clanking of his armour as he stopped at the door to my small quarters.

"Are you ready yet?" he growled. I kept my back to him till I was sure no tears were in my eyes, only giving a nod lest my voice betray me. I double-checked my dagger holstered at my hip, slung my pack on and wrapped my green cloak over my shoulders, lastly, picking up my staff and finally turning with a sniff.

Vilkas stood regally in the doorway, ever statuesque. He wore a dark travelling cloak over his armour with a black wolf pelt across the shoulders of it, charcoal smears of warpaint over his eyes served to highlight them. There was a darkening red mark high on his left cheek, near his eye, with a bloody line where the skin had been split from the melee only hours ago. There was no telling what other injuries likely littered his body.

Though leaner and a feather shorter than his brother, Vilkas still stood an intimidating height; with the handle of the great sword showing over his shoulder he truly looked like a Hero of Old. He paused when he looked at me, his expression strange and unreadable for a moment.

"…Fix your war paint," he muttered before turning and leaving my doorway. I glanced in the looking-glass, my black kohl smudged from its design where tears had been scrubbed back.

* * *

It was high noon by the time we set out; the wide basin of the Whiterun Hold was blossoming with the Spring, and though the light was warm the air was still icy and crisp. It was impossible to take in the pleasure of it all; I had only returned to Jorrvaskr that morning from my sojourn to the Glenmoril cavern… now seeming so pointless, as I knew those few heavy heads I'd collected were just waxed and locked away in a chest. I dragged my feet down the road and snuck a healing spell now and then to alleviate the aching in my legs.

It was a long time crossing the fields and paddocks to the northern mountain ridge. Once we were surely clear of the walls of Whiterun, I picked up pace to walk beside Vilkas.

"Alright. Tell me everything I don't yet know of the attack. Was there no warning?"

"None. It seems the Silverhand had entered the city through the night under the guise of… travelling merchants, farmers from Rorikstead or something equally transparent the damned guard couldn't see through. It was the weak hours of the morning when they charged in, the Hall was only just stirring. I was downstairs when I heard the commotion, took up arms and joined the fight."

"…And Kodlak?"

He didn't answer right away; the faraway, haunted look in his eyes told me the scene was playing out in his memory.

"It'd been a long time since I'd seen him in battle." His brow flinched at something, "It was an Orc… a white hand print over his face. Struck Kodlak from behind like a serpent and fled. I tried to stop him but… I wasn't fast enough."

It painted enough of a picture in my mind, that I didn't press him for details. Instead he decided it was my turn for explanations.

"So what's this mission that was so vital?"

I gritted my teeth at his tone; was I supposed to have known the Silverhand would attack? Did he think I delayed on purpose?

"Tracking Glenmoril witches," I said, trying to keep the bite out of my tone, "For the cure."

Vilkas stopped in his tracks and stared at me. "To lycanthropy…? Kodlak had figured it out?"

"He thought so… and after going over his information I mostly agreed. The knowledge of the curse was kept in the mind of the pale hagravens, sacrificing one of their heads at Ysgramor's tomb was supposed to be the answer to separating wolf from human. And soul from Hircine."

I walked on, and he started again.

"Send a witch after witches… I can see his reasoning," Vilkas mused aloud and I felt my eye twitch.

"Did you really just compare me to a hagraven?"

"Magic is magic, and your wounded pride is the least of my concerns right now."

"Another blockhead scared and derisive of what he doesn't understand…"

"And another mage who thinks she's better and smarter than anyone who doesn't cast spells."

"Oh, you have _no_ right to accuse anyone of arrogance."

Cold, tense silence swept between us for a few moments, Vilkas breaking it first though his tone was still short. "Do you think Kodlak's cure will work?"

"…It's theoretically quite sound. While we can't be sure I see no harm in trying."

To that I had no response; all of this barely lasted our crossing the first field before we ran out of things to say, and he stalked on ahead with quiet murder in his eyes.

So we crossed the fields in silence.

The anger, pain, and thirst for revenge radiated from him, a hiss of steam from that pressure boiler and I know he wanted to be angry at me, too. For my absence… and, because it was easy to be angry at someone you don't like. It picked at the sore that was my own guilt and made some ugly feeling stew in me. But as I was away at Kodlak's bidding when the attack happened, he couldn't justify his anger even if I could justify my guilt. Of course, this was Vilkas; it didn't stop him. Eventually the road was sloping up the hill towards the mountain pass, and I began to lag.

"Keep up, would you?" he growled as he marched a few good paces ahead of me, "We should get there by nightfall tomorrow, but not if you keep dragging your feet."

I flinched at his tone, annoyance flaring quickly from my worn nerves.

"Well, you'll have to excuse me," I snarled back, "I'm a little damn weary at the moment."

"Weary…" he muttered under his breath derisively. Another blush of irritation overcame me, and this time I couldn't keep calm, or quiet, or keep my head down.

"Why did you even have me come as your Shield Sister if I disgust you so much?"

He actually paused in his steps, turning to glare back at me; "It's the very least you could do. You owe it to the Companions, and to Kodlak. And you don't disgust me, you annoy me."

He went to turn away but he'd gone and fanned my annoyance into a blazing anger; I grabbed his arm and forced him to turn around and face me.

"Enough. What is going on here? Before I left for Skuldafn yes you were a brooding boor but I dare say we were finally able to treat one another with some level of civility. What, are you angry that I killed Alduin? Because since the moment I stepped back into Jorrvaskr you have been acting like a petulant child!"

I felt a little mollified, but Vilkas, instead of being ashamed looked on me with wonderment.

"…You really are oblivious, aren't you?" He turned and started back along the path and I rushed to keep up; I'd _had it_ with his attitude, and if he was dragging me along into the North I would not be his personal punching bag the entire way.

"Evidently, yes," I snapped up at him from his heels, "Are you still bitter that I'm a _spell slinger_ and not some barbarian swinging around a war hammer?"

"That has nothing to do with your skills or your methods, it has to do with you."

"What is your problem with me Vilkas?"

"You have no loyalty!" He said, abruptly stopping and turning on me, "You have no regard for the people who helped you! And unlike everyone else I will not ignore that, no matter how great your deeds. That is why you are coming to Driftshade and that is why _you owe us._ "

"…No loyalty-?" I breathed furiously, but I'd done it; I'd pushed him to breaking point.

"You disappeared for _two years!_ Let everyone here believe you to be dead, that you perished with Alduin in Sovngarde, let the whole of Skyrim mourn the loss of their Dragonborn when in reality, you were skulking off in Solstheim. Fighting Miirak or not you don't just forget to tell your Shield-Siblings you're alive," he was actually yelling now, movements unbound as he threw his hands up, "Then one day you just walk back into Jorrvaskr, fluttering your pretty eyes at everyone and think everything is alright?I don't know what's more ridiculous, that, or the fact that _I_ seem to be the only one even noticed."

My jaw dropped, "Well maybe it's because everyone else is just happy I'm alive and Miirak is dead, whereas _you_ could not be more disappointed."

"Of course you think this is personal, of course-"

"It _is_ personal, you said as much yourself!"

"So that's your reasoning?" He growled bitterly, "It's fine to let us think you're dead just because we'll be happy when we find out you're not?"

A new rush of anger was flooding me, but for different reasons. "What business is it of yours? I had my reasons for going-"

"-A reason to leave Skyrim but not a reason to lie to everyone-"

"-I never once lied! I wasn't the one who started the rumour the Dragonborn never returned from Sovngarde, or anything of the sort. There was nothing left for me in Skyrim, and more than enough calling me away so I _left._ "

" _And didn't tell anyone._ "

"Why should I? Who in Oblivion did I have to tell?" I shouted back, and ran a hand over my bound up hair, feeling tendrils about my face loosen out of the hold, "One person, my brother and that was _it,_ because he was the only thing left in this iced-over wasteland that gave a damn about me."

At that Vilkas seemed so at a loss for words, or perhaps too many words trying to burst out at once he could barely speak;

"The Compa-"

"-Oh please, you yourself made it very clear I don't belong at Jorrvaskr-"

"-My own _brother_ stood for you and vouched-"

"-I was only let into the Companions because of what I was, I knew I was never one of you, _you_ made a point of that every chance you got!"

"Of course I wasn't happy about some… milk drinking _thief_ being let into our ranks," he barked and I started. He caught my surprise though, and began advancing on me, "Aye, I know Thieves Guild armour when I see it, even if it was only the scraps you had. But we took you on anyway, because Kodlak believed in you, and I was the one who had to sit there and watch the people I call family mourn you only a fortnight after we lost Skjor-"

"-They hadn't known me more than three moons I can assure you, it was the loss of Skjor that they mourned, not me." My voice was bitter when I said that, so icy it sounded alien. Vilkas had dropped his shoulders, staring at me with an expression somewhere between fury, confusion and amazement:

"How… how can someone so _selfish_ and self-obsessed think that? No really, I wonder because it is quite an amazing feat, are you just so wrapped up in yourself you don't even realise that other people might have feelings? You _owed_ us a goodbye, you owed the _people_ a goodbye-"

" _I_ owe the people _NOTHING!_ " The roar ripped suddenly from me at his words, "This world has never done _anything_ to show me that it deserved to be saved or that it's grateful for it, sometimes wonder why I even bothered!"

For the first time since we'd started, there was a moment of silence. Hands shaking, my teeth clenched, I wanted to be done with this fight. Vilkas and I had always enjoyed antagonising each other, but we seemed to have ripped something open and fire was pouring out of us both. I turned on my heel and continued along the path, trees starting to stretched up around us. From behind me Vilkas spoke up as he followed:

"Well what about the Blades? That man who was with you at Dragonsreach, your betrothed? You just walked away from all that too?"

I'd stopped dead in my tracks, feeling I'd just been struck across the face. I wasn't ready for that. The memory of being at Dragonsreach, feeling Vorstag's arms round me, hearing him beg me to return… and then everything that had happened since…

"How did-"

"I know my military history well enough to recognise a Blade." I could hear him closing in. I swallowed down a lump in my throat.

"He wasn't my betrothed-"

"You could have fooled me."

I glared over my shoulder at him, "Well that's all too easy to do."

His mouth twitched in annoyance and there was another moment of silence, when I felt him studying me with those silver eyes. I hated that look, that… hunting look, it felt like he was staring right through my skin or trying to worm his way into my mind.

"…No, but he has something to do with it," He said knowingly then gave me a sardonic laugh, "Gods above don't tell me this was all the tantrum of a jilted lover!"

Pain flared in my stomach, fuelling the anger, "You would love to think that wouldn't you! Having great opinions on matters you know nothing about!"

"Then educate me!"

"My life is none of your concern!"

"You're a Companion!" He suddenly grabbed me by the shoulders, "Everything about you is my concern!"

"I- wh- since _when?_ " I wrestled my arms up and swept them out to break his hold, quickly taking a few steps back; my heart was hammering, my mind swirling, "Suddenly now you think of me as a Companion simply because it suits you-"

"I thought of you as one since my brother spoke for you more than two years ago. Of course you were _missing_ for most of that, but a Companion you were and are."

My arms crossed under my chest tightly; when I spoke I tried to at least control my tone, if there was no controlling my anger.

"So… because we are both part of the same faction, I am obligated to inform you of every motivation behind my actions? Every facet of my life is your business? You, the man who never even asked me why I joined, just made it very clear you thought I wasn't good enough to polish armour let alone be a Shield Sibling."

Vilkas' face twisted into a seething snarl, his silver eyes targeting me. When he began speaking again, he took slow steps forward, closing the space I had made. He moved like a hunter and I knew his Beast blood was rising to the surface in his attempt to intimidate me.

The Beast and Dragon both in my own blood were growling in response.

"You think me a hypocrite?" Vilkas started, dangerously quiet, "You think I'm insensible to the honour it was, having the Dragonborn join our ranks? Why do you think I helped you, taught you when you were so damn certain you'd get eaten by the next dragon you crossed without your precious Blades at your back? That day you left to fight Alduin you know _damn_ well I was proud-" I blinked but he continued- "That I thought you the bravest of us… You're a cruel person, Dragonborn. I know exactly why you joined. So you could use us, our training, our resources, our secrets and then you took the blood and _left._ "

He towered over me, using all his height to make me feel as small as possible; I couldn't tell if the way he moved was intentional or instinctual but either way I was having none of it. I stood still, chin held high and kept my ground.

Vilkas continued, voice rising, "Of course you didn't care when we were waking up day after day since Alduin's defeat, waiting for you to come back." He jabbed a finger into my chest, "You never cared because there's a chunk of ice where your heart should be, no fire like Kodlak thought he saw-"

The end of the word was cut short when my hands flashed out and grabbed him by the collar of his cuirass, shoving him back and slamming him into a boulder, so blind with anger and hurt I could barely think straight;

 _"Ruth strun bah! Wax wah ruus!"_

 _I'd show him fire!_ My lungs swelled with air that began to burn, the words filling my soul and surging in the back of my throat- _YOL_ was searing my lips, waiting to be unleashed to destroy and burn anything in my way; but glaring at those silver eyes it caught in my throat. For a moment Vilkas seemed like he'd use my moment's hesitation to throw me off, but now had gone quite still, looking back at me with an expression I could not read. Was it shock? Worry? Curiosity? I felt like he was searching through my eyes for answers he hadn't been able to get by barking at me. He was hunting my mind again.

I slowly, painfully swallowed down the word and pressed my lips shut, breathing out a long rush of air through my nose. And when the fire was swallowed down, I suddenly realised just how close I might have come to killing him. Vilkas shifted under my hold and it seemed a moment he might say something. When I blinked wide eyes at my hands, they were still gripping the collar of his armour so tightly my knuckles were white. I let my grip go, fingers resting on the armour a moment before I had the good sense to snatch my hands away…

 _'Kynareth preserve me… I'd nearly shouted him into ash.'_

Part of me was waiting for him to make some cruel comment, the other was trying to suppress the burning in my lungs. I'd never swallowed a word like that before and it was aching int he most unnatural way. Crossing my arms around my torso, I didn't even look at Vilkas as I turned and stalked away from the fight and continued up the road. He could have the last word this time.

"…Lyrielle,"

I quickened my pace; that stupid noisy armour of his clanked when he followed me for a few steps, before finally letting me go.

* * *

Hours of walking and cold air did nothing to stop the fire in my lungs and stomach. When we finally reached a vaguely familiar rest site I paused, then diverged from the road, slipping down a frosty embankment towards a nearby spring. Setting my staff down I crouched on the river's edge, cupping my hands into the water, the freezing cold burning my skin. I didn't mind it, and raised the water to my lips.

When all this was over I was going to go back to the College, lock myself in a tower and never come out again.

Or maybe I could climb to the top of Mount Anthor, claim the dragon's lair up there and build myself a little house. I am _Dovahkin_ afterall, why can't I have my own _Strunmah?_ Mount Anthor was appealing, too… remote enough, yet near Winterhold and the Shrine of Azura… a bit cold. Too cold to grow my own food or forage anything but snowberries. Unless I built a greenhouse, like the one I'd seen at the College, fuelled by magelight…

These childish ideas were entertained long enough for me to calm down before I discarded them. I clutched at my chest; the burning was slowly dying, but it was not the nature of a thu'um to be silenced. There was something else too, something tight and choking, wrapping around my heart like a serpent.

I couldn't really remember the last time I'd felt guilt. But now I couldn't stop hearing Vilkas' accusations. He'd been cruel, harsh, an arrogant, self-important snow back, and worst of all… he'd been right.

 _"You know damn well I was proud,"_ he'd said. I'd known nothing of the sort… though remembering those words eased the pain a bit. I don't know why; his approval was not something I'd ever sought. Yes he was one of the smartest at Jorrvaskr but that was made almost redundant by his insufferable pride. Of course those words had to be followed by the rest of his lecture, his insults.

 _"You're a cruel person, Dragonborn."_

Cruel… I'd honestly not known I had been causing so much pain. I'd been so wrapped up in everything, so bitter, so abandoned by the people who I thought mattered and so sure I'd never have to come back here. No, I hadn't given a single thought about the Companions.

The sigh ran out of me and left me feeling drained. These past two weeks had just been beyond horrible; nothing had made me regret returning to this Gods-forsaken wasteland more. Oh, my few months with College were wonderful, everything I dreamed and more, but just these last two weeks… Vorstag, Kodlak… now Vilkas.

As if summoned, I heard that armour rattle behind me, halting a few paces off. I barely glanced over my shoulder and he spoke, his voice low, uncertain.

"Perhaps we should set up camp here? You don't look well."

Standing I brushed my hands on my clothes, "I'm fine to keep going."

"It's getting dark," he warned. I didn't have the energy to argue any longer.

"As you like."

Filling my canteen with water I picked up my staff and used it to help myself up the bank to the clearing. It must have been an old campsite; there was a small hollow in the ground filled with dark ash, frosted over. Vilkas had cleared it away and gathered up a little kindling, I cast flames over it to get it going. For the most part we were silent and Vilkas managed to avoid me by busying himself looking for more firewood; once the fire could sustain itself I set about pulling provisions from my bag, dark rye bread, a wedge of cheese, a red apple, pulling chunks of bread apart and toasting them.

But as night fell we couldn't avoid each other any longer; he set himself on the other side of the fire, half lit and half obscured by the flames and fixed his own supper from what he'd packed. I suppose Vilkas didn't have the patience tonight to set traps or hunt.

I tried instead to busy my mind, drawing out a leather-bound journal. It was not the sort that I'd record my everyday thoughts and feelings in, used more for academic purposes. I had a whole stack of these back in my room at the College, many for the ancient barrows I'd investigated while hunting for Word Walls. This one though was filled with spur of the moment ideas for me to research or practise later on. It was, for the most part, rambling chicken-scratch, or drawings.

I had a small charcoal pencil tucked into the binding of the journal and occasionally would sketch or scribble a note down as it came to mind. Now that I had bent the law of firsts and knew how to twice enchant an object I really needed a new academic trajectory.

"You keep a journal?" Vilkas' voice interrupted through the flames. I glanced up at him archly.

"I don't know that journal is the right word," I murmured, flicking through the pages. I had a lot of ideas in there, quite a few notes for the essay I needed to write on enchantments.

"What are you writing then?"

I smirked, "Nothing about you." After a moment, I added, "Theories on elemental bending by means of combining magic schools. Which of course leads to other questions considering the nature of the relationships between magic and naturally occurring forces."

"…I see," he said, low and drawn out.

I held back a snort,"Do you now?"

"If it has anything to do with the Unburned legend, then yes."

I blinked up through the flames at him; he wasn't looking at me, instead idly toasting a bit of bread and cheese.

"…I'm not familiar with that term?" I pressed; a cynical part of my mind warned he was pulling my leg, but I was curious none the less.

"I don't know how credible it is. Just a story an old Alikir warrior told me many years ago. The Unburned were Redguard pyromancers who worshipped the sun as the embodiment of Akatosh. He said there was one, many hundreds of years ago, caught when wildfire swept through his village. They say he parted the flames with his bare hands and walked safely through the fire. But then, there is every chance this is simply fable or a lost art." With that he took a bite of his bread, and I tapped my pencil to my chin.

"…Should I and the Greybeards die tomorrow, shouting would be a lost art," I murmured, to him or to myself, "That wouldn't make it impossible." I scribbled down a note on the legend, regardless. It seemed for a moment we were done talking.

"I thought enchanting was what you focused on?" he broached; I was about to launch into an explanation that enchanting was a craft that bound most magic schools and therefore proficiency in one would lead to excelling in another, particularly in the cases of Destruction and Alteration which consequently were other major focuses when I remembered, _I was angry at him._ And he was supposed to be angry with me.

"Why are you pretending to care?" I asked, feeling some satisfaction at the annoyance fleeting over his face. He glared into the fire and I thought I'd managed to shut him up, so I turned back to my book, leafing a page over.

"…I lost my temper before," Vilkas eventually said. I flicked my eyes up at him.

"…I had an apple for breakfast," I replied dryly; when he glowered I lifted my chin. "Beg your pardon, are we not mentioning irrelevant things we did in the past? Or were you going to actually attempt an apology?"

"I meant every word, I won't swallow them back up. But…" The words had to fight their way out of him, "It's been many years… since I've acted like that. My manner in addressing you… it was not fitting for a Companion. I was angry - furious - for what had happened to Kodlak," His voice seemed to catch on our Harbinger's name; he prodded the fire with a stick, "…Have you nothing to say?"

I realise I would have attempted civility at this point, but I was tired, wound up, and in no forgiving mood; "What, you admitted to yelling at me, no great revelation. Now I admit to yelling at you? Are you trying to trick me into saying I did something wrong? It won't change what either of us said, or our minds on the matter, or in anyway bring us to a better understanding. Leave it be."

"You're my Shield Sister, this should be resolved."

"And if it can't?"

"Then you can safely go on hating me without misconceptions," he said dryly. I knew he had a point; as a sign of concession I slid the pencil back into the binding of my book and slowly closed the pages. My eyes met his across the fire. There it was, that hunting look. I suppose he enjoyed a puzzle as much as I did.

"…I have been thinking on what you said before, but, I still can't come to a clear conclusion… What happened to you, Lyrielle? I've been trying to work out why, how you could think like of us all that?"

My lips pressed together; I did want to be understood, but I didn't really want to tell him anything; after his behaviour I didn't think he had a right to know anything about me. But at the same time, I didn't want him misjudging me, or going on with misconceptions… I frowned. It shouldn't bother me, I shouldn't care if that man was alive in this world and thinking ill of me. It shouldn't matter, but it did.

"Lyrielle?" he pressed, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"…I'm sorry if I did hurt them," I finally answered, "I am. In all honesty, I didn't think they would be… It really never occurred to me."

Vilkas thought on my answer a moment, lobbing another, thicker bit of wood onto the fire. Embers flitted up like torch bugs, the light growing as the fire caught.

"That's what I don't understand. Why would you assume that?"

"Why wouldn't I assume that? No one worried about what I did or where I went before. The Dragonborn did her duty, it was over. And when I was called away to Solsthiem…" I shrugged, not sure if I was satisfied with my answer.

When we had argued, Vilkas had called me selfish for leaving… and so much of what he had said echoed Vorstag. The moment I thought about him venomous anger shot through my insides. The Beast Blood stirred, a feral being that had taken me months to learn to control.

"For a long time, I had no thoughts of ever returning to Skyrim. Actually the only reason I came back and decided to go to Winterhold rather than any other magic school in Tamriel was because my brother had established himself so well in this country. That, and Neloth said he wouldn't teach me anymore… it's besides the point. Though I can stand a little separation from my family I don't like being away from Triss. I'm sure you could understand that… Farkas tells me your father died in the Great War."

"We're not talking about my father."

"We're not talking about me now, either."

He gave me a smirk that said 'fair enough', and shared a part of his own story;

"To hear Farkas tell it, our father raised us at Jorrvaskr as happy pups, running around biting knees… I love my brother, but his brains are not his strong suit. We were brought there by Jergen. Whether he was our father or not, I don't care. He left to fight in the Great War and never came back. So he's not my problem anymore."

The edge of bitterness to his voice was unmistakeable, and piqued my curiosity; "You weren't close to him?"

"As a child, perhaps. But as I said, he left, he never returned; we almost never involve ourselves with politics, but it seems duty and honour called him away." His eyes were distant, staring into the fire, as if memories were played out in the embers, "I still remember that night; I woke up and and all his belongings were gone. His sword, armour, clothes. I woke Farkas and we ran upstairs, out on the street, into the night. But he was already gone."

"…You were lucky," I said softly, after a revered silence, "You still had Jorrvaskr."

"Lucky is a very relative term. My whole life I've had Jorrvaskr and the Companions, but then I've seen so many people come and then leave. Or die."

"…But you still had somewhere, a place to belong, and you always will."

He watched me carefully then, head tilting in a wolfish manner that almost made me smile; "You almost sound jealous. You're a Companion too," he said, then added after a thoughtful pause, "Perhaps I was hard on you. We are on all new initiates. I thought you were tougher than that; but you don't think of Jorrvaskr as your home."

I shrugged, "Eh. It's been a long time since I thought of anywhere as home. Everything was always temporary. My home was never a place; I had my brother, and that's all."

"Do you not know what happened to the rest of your family?"

"It's… huh. It's been a while since I thought of that. My parents are long dead, it's just been my brother and I adrift in Tamriel since. I suppose I have cousins out there, somewhere."

We were quiet for a moment. I picked up a stick and idly prodded the fire, edging closer as the cold crept in with the night.

"You said once you were born in Highrock though?" he asked, and I nodded.

"Wayrest. Till it was sacked by corsairs." It felt strange talking about it; the memory of the place felt like it belonged to someone else. The terror of that night was now a rare visitor in my dreams; more often than not, I couldn't tell if it was Wayrest, or Helgen. Vilkas was nodding-

"Aye, the attack in year one-eighty-eight… is that… how your parents…?"

"My mother, yes," I said vacantly, "My father died of 'exposure' a year before that." Another silence. 'Exposure' was the polite term for what had happened to him; he was not the first soldier to return from the Great War, stripped of his honours by the White-Gold Concordant, and be haunted still by the battles. They would come to him in the night, and he'd pace the halls, then the streets, swallowed with visions of fire and blood till he could drink them away.

When I was a child, they told me he'd gone to sleep on the steps of the Temple and died of 'exposure'. I was a little older when I began to realise what had really happened… I don't know if my father meant to kill himself. But it happened. There's only so much moon-sugar laced brandy and poppy-milk someone can drink.  
I hadn't thought about my parents in a long time… it hurt to. Even more so when my memories of them were now so few.

"After that, we just sort of wandered around, sometimes with refugees, other times on our own. It's hard to really remember any one place till we landed in the Imperial City. We stayed on the waterfront there for some time… Still, you get comfortable somewhere, eventually you get chased out or Triss would get called away on business and so we'd be slinking from city to city again."

"So why Skyrim?" Vilkas ventured, then added with a wry smile, "Cyrodil got too hot?"

"Tristane always knew how to get us out of trouble as quickly as we got into it." I replied with a chuckle, "Trained me well to survive the situation, you know, keep quiet, move unseen, don't instigate trouble… No, he chose Skyrim for me, really. Ever since I heard about the College at Winterhold I wanted to go there."

"You… heard about a near-destroyed city covered in snow and ice, that had magic-school that was mistrusted by everyone in Skyrim, and though that sounded like a nice place to be?"

My eyes rolled a little; I wasn't going to answer, but the memory crept back into my mind, so comforting and clear, I wanted to give it voice: "It was the merchant's festival, I was helping Triss with a- well I was there with Tristane… and we passed the stall of an art merchant, Triss already knew I'd make him stop so I could look at the paintings. Then a noblewoman asked to see one unravelled, and it was a painting of the College. I remember just… staring at it like it was the most incredible thing I'd ever seen, I don't think I even knew what all that white stuff on the ground was. Snow, by the way."

"…Aye, I know what snow is-"

"-The castle was against this velvet night sky, that had brilliant ribbons of the aurora over it, and these wild, black waves crashing against the rocks of the stack… for the rest of the day I was bothering Triss and everyone I spoke to to tell me about this beautiful castle in the darkest parts of the north. And they said people went there to learn _magic._ "

I was staring into the fire, lost in that hopeful childhood memory and smiling when I realised that seemingly unreachable childhood dream had at last come to fruition, after all this time.

"It sounded so wonderful, just… isolated, a clan of scholars all holed up together, learning, reading, researching and casting magic spells. No needing to hide, or worry what people might think or being told what you love isn't important... be with my own people. Now I'm actually there and it really is everything I thought it would be like and even more, I mean the Arcaneum is-"

I stopped short, realising I'd succumbed to gushing. My hands were up having moved emphatically with my words so I waved them dismissively, "Triss knew the nomad life wasn't really for me. The plan was I'd go to Winterhold, he, to Riften. Then of course, fate decides to intervene… plans had to be abandoned."

Vilkas didn't reply right away, and for a while there was only the gentle crackling of the fire and distant sounds of the forest. I huddled my cloak around me tighter, quietly wishing for a cup of hot spiced wine.

"That… explains a lot," Vilkas murmured, "Not everything, of course. Not your anger. And not why you would want to vanish, after such a great deed."

I hung my head; this was not the first time I'd been faced with such a question. "…The people love their mythical Dragonborn. Most don't even know my name. I was living my life according to what everyone else wanted me to be - even _you_ had to talk me out of trying to fight in metal armour. But I suppose you want particulars…" _How to explain the mess with the Blades, with Vorstag? How much is worth telling?_ "I'll simply say this. People I thought were my friends and allies saw me as nothing more than a sword in their hand. I'd been used, lied to, deceived. I defeated the world's greatest evil, and was rewarded with abandonment."

He watch me closely, seeming to hold his breath before broaching his next question; "…What about that Blade at Dragonsreach?"

"He wasn't supposed to be there with me," I said flatly. I'd been expecting more enquiries about Vorstag. I had no idea how I wanted to answer them.

"…But you've seen him again."

"I did. I saw the Blades before I left Skyrim for Solsthiem."

"And since you've been back," he pressed. I looked into the fire, sure the stinging in my eyes was from the light and the heat. I heard Vilkas shift uncomfortably.  
"My apologies; I shouldn't be prying," he offered and I hung my head with a weak sigh.

"Look it's just… complicated." And it was. He was a Blade; he had an oath to uphold, a duty to fulfil, and a Blademaster to obey. I'd somehow found it to forgive him for not leaving with me when Delphine cast me out… it was seeing him when I came back and what transpired that made my stomach churn with anger.

"…He lied to me," I added quietly, simply. It was too humiliating to tell him more.

"There's nothing complicated about that," Vilkas said with a tone so gentle I wasn't sure it was him speaking.

"I wish that were true."

"It is. It's one thing to nurse an injured heart, another to have the embarrassment of being deceived added to it."

I snapped an annoyed glare at him. "Yes. Thank you for pointing that out."

"…Just saying, you're not alone in that," he added, and suddenly, he had my attention.

"Do you speak from previous experience?"

He smirked half heartedly, "It was many years ago and not worth the retelling."

"Well, now you've certainly raised my curiosity."

"Sadly I have no intention of satisfying it… unless you want to tell me more of the Blades?"

"I'm not that curious," I growled, "So, you're thinking of travelling to Morrowind, eventually?"

"A topic change as subtle as a brick to the face," he said dryly. Resigned to my change in subject, he continued; "But yes, I've considered it. To see something more of the world. But it may be a long time before I can be far from Jorrvaskr now…"

" _Krosis._ Would you always want to be at Jorrvaskr?" I asked. He really thought a moment before answering.

"…No. I wouldn't want to be far from it, but now and then I think it'd be good to have a home to myself. Of course I wouldn't know what to do with the space."

"The tradition would be making a family to fill it."

"…If you could have a home though, a family to belong to, a place of your own, would you take it? Settle down?"

"That depends. Does it have a view?"

"Fair answer."

"I settled well enough in Solstheim for a while; and now I'm at the College, I've grown attached. Though come to think of it, never had an actual home of my own." The first comfortable quiet crept up on us. My mind was full in that moment, considering what had just transpired.

"…I guess we can be civil," I offered and he gave a wry smile. Clearing the air felt good, cathartic, so much so I was tempted for a while to share more. But I'd never been a huge emotional exhibitionist; this had turned into an incredible anomaly. I went to take out my journal again, and for a while, there was quiet.

"Did you hunt netch when you were in Solsthiem?" Vilkas ventured. I blinked.

"…Once. The hunting team from Ravenrock was one short. I may not be the most accurate marksman but I'd be sorry for anyone who couldn't hit the side of one of those things." I smiled at the memory and I could hear him breathe a quiet laugh too.

"I'd been told they roam wild over there," he offered. I tilted my head at him, feeling a smile tugging at my mouth.

"Vilkas, it's alright. You don't need to make small talk," I said, opening my journal again.

"…Aye." He gave a nod, looking out to the forest, "Don't suppose you'd have a book anywhere in that satchel?"

"Hm, no, just my journal…" I murmured, "Surprised you didn't pack one."

"Well… I guess it didn't occur to me at the time." He started prodding the fire and stacked a few more thick sticks onto it, the flames licking higher as heat grew. Then I saw his worried frown, and considered what he'd said.

Kodlak was weighing on his mind now. He'd just been wanting a distraction. The image of Kodlak's bloodied body flashed before me, and Farkas sitting there by him, lost, empty. Ria knelt on the other side. And all the while I stood there with the cure in my hands, and I was just too late…

"Vilkas…?" I broached, my voice small, "Did Kodlak ever tell you more about his plans for a cure?"

"Nothing he wouldn't have discussed with you… That the ritual may be performed in Ysgramor's tomb," he said, after a moments contemplation, "If we gained access to it, there may be a chance of cleansing Kodlak's soul. Or at the very least, to commune with him."

I shivered; I couldn't be sure if it was the frost creeping in, or from the conversation.

"Would you take the cure?" I asked quietly. Vilkas crackled his knuckles, a pained frown crossing his face.

"…I don't know. Yes…? It's been a part of me for so long now I can barely remember what it is to be human… or if it was gone, would it take other parts of me with it… At the moment though it's not my soul I'm worried for, only Kodlak's. He deserved better. I've enjoyed the boons that come with beastblood, just like every member of the Circle. Kodlak was right, though; we've given a piece of our souls for this power. I know my mythic histories, bargains like that lead to ruin. This is a curse that was laid upon us, that much is clear."

My lips pursed and I nodded, wondering what he meant about losing 'other parts' of himself. "I've been considering for a while, I want to let go of the blood. It took so much to get control and I still miss how I used to be."

"I was furious with Aela and Skjor," he admitted, so out of the blue it caught me by surprise; he was glaring into the fire, "They didn't think for one moment what it might do to the dragon blood, and when you turned that night… Shor's blood, my brother's transformation was easier… When you took the beastblood, did any of your senses change? When you weren't as a wolf, that is?"

I blinked at that, "No, not really… it was horrible at first, you know that… I was so angry all the time, I think it was a week before I could sleep. I still cannot bear small spaces for long… but, no, my human senses didn't change. Did yours?"

He nodded, "Some take the Beast Blood more deeply than others, that the wolf manifests in other ways. I thought perhaps, since your wolf form is so…"

"Big?" I offered, "Red? Loud?"

"Red, hn…? Well, the roar I figured would be loud. But I wasn't sure how the blood affected you in your mortal form. Farkas tells me he felt no real change, aside from the usual restlessness… Aela I know has the sharpest hearing of any of us, and she's good at identifying scents down to an individual pack."

I put my fingers to my chin, considering the phenomenon, "…And you?"

He looked up from the fire then, the flames reflecting in his silver eyes, the flash of a predatory look cast over them.

"…I can smell your blood pulsing from here," he said quietly, and as if to taunt me I could feel my heart speed faster. His look suddenly felt invasive, and I wondered at all those other times where it seemed he was trying to stare into my soul; was he sensing for something else? Something I didn't know I was giving away, something I couldn't hide?

"…But my sense of taste is dull," he finally added, looking away, "Food and drink have no true flavour. And I can see so clearly in the dark, it's as if every night is a full moon. But… colour is gone."

That shook me from my stunned reverie; "…What? You see no colour?"

"Well, I see some. Yellow, blue, brown… most everything else is grey."

As if by instinct I tucked a vibrant lock of red hair behind my ear.

"How do I look to you?" I asked, then instantly wondered why I'd care. He raised an eyebrow.

"Like a five-three pain in my neck," he teased, then added when he saw my scowl, "…It's uh, sort of a dull, dark blonde. Plain grey in some lights. Why, how do I look to you?" he asked sardonically and I glared even more.

"Like you need a bath and a shave."

He rubbed his stubbled chin reflexively.

I looked up to the skies high above; nearly full moons tonight, but they were covered by an endless stretch of cloud.

"How long till we get there?" I asked quietly.

"I'd think, mid afternoon tomorrow."

I nodded wordlessly, moving my pack and fluffing it on the ground then wrapping my cloak around me a little tighter, laying down close by the fire. The ground was hard, the air cold, and I knew it would be an uncomfortable sleep.

"Tired already?" Vilkas asked. I nodded, forcing myself to close my eyes.

"I've been on the road for perhaps the past week…" I reminded him, "I'd suggest you get some rest too."

"…Aye," he said distantly, but made no move to try and sleep. Something in his tone made me open my eyes again; he shouldn't be alone with his thoughts. I propped myself up and fiddled in my bag, drawing out the leather journal.

"Here." I tossed it to him, "It's no adventure novel, but something to read. And when you're bored of that you can stoke the fire to keep me warm."

I rolled over so my back was to him then, and huddled down into my cloak to ignore the grateful look he cast at me.


	2. Haemorrhage

**Thank you all for the reviews and support, it's really heartening to see people so geared for these two and brings a HUGE smile to my face each time! I know a few of you are also wanting to hear about "That Night"... well, it does make a feature in this fic, at some point. Oh my.**

 **Also, as inspired by lady73, I've taken a risk here and will attempt my first ever chapter from Vilkas' POV. hope you all enjoy!**

* * *

 **VILKAS**

In my tenth summer, I got myself into a fight with a boy named Tarben, cousin to the Whiterun Battle-Borns. I brawled with a lot of the other children, even those older than me. This would be the last.

Farkas and I had been playing at swords under the Gildergreen when Tarben had approached, a few friends in tow. He had a highborn attitude and was a bully, and the status of his birth I assume is what protected him from ever getting a fist in his mouth. I forget what exactly started the animosity between me and this boy. I never forgot what ended it.

Farkas had frowned and stepped back when he saw Tarben coming over, looking back to Jorrvaskr.

"Vilkas, let's go back…"

I turned sharply to look at the approaching boy, and scowled, "We were here first, brother. I'm not being chased away by some dressed-up snow back."

Tarben was eating an apple covered in hard toffee, the couple of 'friends' behind him bought with the same treats. He was a tall boy and his plump body was covered by fine clothes to help parade his parents ostentatious wealth. He stopped a few paces off, glaring at us.

"Look at the mongrels, swinging wooden swords." He jeered, his friends rewarding him with an obligatory laugh, "What game are you playing?"

"…Arena Heroes," Farkas replied, "Do you know how to play?"

"Why would I play a stupid game like that? You know the Arena was all fake, don't you?"

"It wasn't," I replied, ice in my tone, "Some of the best fighters came from the Arena; they became heroes, just like the Companions."

"You should be playing farming instead; stinking orphan twins won't ever be great heroes. All the war heroes came from great families, and they don't have fleas like you do."

"The Companions don't care about where you're from," Farkas faithfully recited, "A mans worth is measured by the strength of his arm and the fire in his heart."

"Father says they don't care because they're not real soldiers. They're just mercenaries. Everyone there is probably a stupid, ice-brain bastard just like you!" He drew back his arm and lobbed the apple core and struck Farkas on the head. I launched at Tarben before Farkas caught my arm, trying to pull me away.

"Vilkas, let's just go-"

"-The Companions are heroes, like Ysgramor himself!" I shouted, "You're just a craven snow back!"

"Father says all bastards are born of whores," Tarben was grinning now, seeing how furious he had made me, "I'll bet that's what your mother is, I'll bet she didn't even know who your real father was!"

The next moment I had wrenched myself free and tackled the boy to the ground, losing my wooden sword in the fray. The other children screamed and ran for help, except Farkas who was trying to drag me away.

Tarben was three years my senior and had a lot of weight behind him, particularly when compared to my wiry frame. But the sheltered noble-boy probably never had so much as a cane across the back of the legs from his tutor; against a boy raised in a hall of warriors, he stood no chance. Soon my fists were flying and I shouted till my voice was hoarse; his nose crunched flat and spurted blood, two, three, four adult teeth were knocked loose. His left eye began to swell shut. I hit him again and again until a large pair of hands gripped me and pulled me away kicking and swearing.

"Vilkas! Enough!" Kodlak roared, locking me in a tight hold, even when I bit at his arm to get free. Children were being shoo'd clear, and Tarben's mother had come running, screaming at the state of him and taking him into her arms.

"You keep that little beast away from my son!" She cried at Kodlak, "I'll see him punished for this!"

I was still thrashing and struggling as Kodlak carried me away, Farkas tugging at his arm.

"It wasn't Vilkas' fault! Tarben was-"

"Farkas, go help Eorlund. Now."

Reluctantly, Farkas slunk away, and Kodlak carried me inside Jorrvaskr then set me down hard on the first wooden bench there, holding me in place.

"What were you _thinking?_ We've talked about this before, what did I say about fighting?" His voice was raised but never to a shout, unlike myself:

"He called us bastards! He said our mother was a whore!"

"Then you lift your chin and walk away from his pettiness! You can't keep _doing_ this, Vilkas! Do you not understand? That boy belongs to one of the greatest clans in Skyrim, the Jarl could send you away for this, as far as Riften."

I was sniffing and wiping angry tears from my face, before I finally managed to look up at Kodlak, "…Because I'm just a bastard orphan?"

"Listen here boy." He rested his large hands over my skinny shoulders, encouraging me to look at him. His face was stern, masked by the snowy beard and framed by the white mane of hair that earned him his name. "You, are _never_ going to be _'just'_ anything. That Tarben's only worth comes from the name he was born with. And he is going to have it easier in life, but he'll never be the warrior you will. You've got fire in you, Vilkas, and a quick mind. But, you must learn to control that passion, lest it control and consume you. You'll be a man, soon. A man is always master of himself. You're going to do that from now on, aren't you? Not try, _do._ "

"Yes, Kodlak," I sniffed. He gave my shoulder a too-hard pat, letting go of a long sigh, speaking lowly to himself. Guilt sat heavy in my stomach when I saw how much grief I had caused him and my breaths shuddered and jerked when I spoke.

"…I'm sorry Kodlak."

"I know you are boy, I know you are… and a good lad when you want to be."

"I don't want to go to Riften."

"And I wouldn't let that happen." He picked up my hand to inspect my bleeding knuckles. "…This is probably going to be punishment enough by tomorrow. Good way to remind you that a man's skull is a lot stronger than the wee bones in your hands. So if you ever think of hitting a man in the face with bare knuckles again, it had better be worth it. Alright, best get downstairs and find Tilma, have that cleaned up. I'll go speak with Brynjar's mother. Off with you, then."

I slid off the chair, pausing after a few steps. "Kodlak?"

"Aye?"

"…Was Jergen my father?"

He paused for one moment too long before replying, "I don't have all the answers in the world, Vilkas. But I do know, he loved you and Farkas both as sons."

Kodlak gave me a single nod before leaving the mead hall. Nothing about those parting words had ever satisfied me; firstly, if Jergen had loved Farkas and I, he would not have gone. Secondly, despite what he said, Kodlak had remained the mentor I'd trusted did have every answer to every trouble and hard decision.

And so remained the voice of reason to temper me for the next twenty years.

* * *

Early morning brought with it a new frost, the heavy mist in the air promising a clear and bright day. Though the sun hadn't risen I was restless to be moving again, as was my travel companion. The cathartic spell that had fallen over us was gone by morning; we were back to needling each other, but for the first time in a long time there was a sensation of good humour to it. I'd tossed Lyrielle her strange 'journal' in the morning.

"Interesting read. I love trying to decipher rambling nonsense."

"I should have known it was too much for a brute to think highly of me or my work."

"You're too short to be thought highly of."

She patted down her pockets, looking for something, then reached in to one and drew out a rude gesture for me.

We moved quickly through morning routine; Lyrielle had gathered a few birch twigs to chew on and scrub teeth with then gone down the bank to the waters edge. I went through my pack and drew out a few strips of dried venison. For whatever reason (I really couldn't understand) Lyrielle doesn't actually like to eat meat, so as an afterthought I took an apple and headed to the river, though reaching the sloping bank, I found myself pausing.

She was turned away from me, shaking water from her arms, and her long curls loose down her back. Stretching a little, she then gathered the wild tresses up and started to weave them tightly, binding them up out of the way. All save those shorter, finer curls that ghosted at the nape of her slender neck. My eyes followed the line to her shoulder and down her side as she pinned her hair in place. The inward pinch of her waist, filling out again to her hips…

It was a deception that did her many favours. Her petite stature, the soft curves of her body, the sweetness of the face. Being a magic-user more than anything, it was rare for her to bother putting on real armour. It all aided in hiding her power, giving an illusion of vulnerability. Anyone who didn't know her underestimated her.

…Even I did at times.

Lyrielle turned and started back up till she saw me, pausing in her tracks.

"…Why are you doing?"

Holding up the apple I tossed it down to her; it made a soft _tok_ in her hands as she caught it, and brought it to her lips, biting.

"Was waiting for you to get moving. Or should I bring you a looking glass?" I ripped another bite of my own meager breakfast.

Lyrielle rolled her eyes with a smirk, starting up the bank and brushing past me. "If you felt the need to stare for that long, I either look damned good, or just damned."

After quickly striking camp we continued north as the sun rose, warmed by movement. There was little to talk about; the wolf was roused by tracking so my every sense was tuned out to the snow and tall pine forest around us. A good thing, as my travel companion had a habit of being the opposite. Usually when I'd glance her way, she was staring off at the mountains and not the road we walked. _'Away in Mundus'_ , Tilma would say. I don't know where her mind retreated to, though after everything she'd confided in me yesterday (or, shouted at me), I had some understanding as to why.

Let her mind wander; I had prey to hunt...

Before I could stop it the moment flashed clearly in my mind's eye: a silver sword stained crimson as it burst forward from Kodlak's chest. The spray of blood hissing into the hearth fire and filling the room with its acrid scent. The Orc's dark, smirking expression when he turned to look at me, his face painted by a white hand-print.

Seething hatred and rage churned in my chest. When we found them, _that one_ was mine. I hadn't been fast enough to save Kodlak; but I would make the Silverhand pay for his life in blood, and strike them so hard they would never stand to hunt the Companions again…

"Vilkas, slow down," Lyrielle huffed for a moment making me wonder if I had said something aloud. She jogged up to my side, using her staff to occasionally help pull herself up the steep slope of the hill. Also, to lightly whack me on the arm when in reach.

"Short legs. If you're going to go charging ahead like that again save us both time and let me on your shoulders first."

I frowned, "Yes. Indulging your laziness is my first priority."

Lyrielle just lightly nodded with a 'mmhm', and I found that pensive look was focused on me. It used to be unnerving; usually when people were caught staring they naturally turned away but not her. It was as if she was mentally dissecting me and didn't notice or care if I knew it.

Strange woman. It made me remain silent and try to reign in my strides.

I'd always enjoyed the forests of the Pale; blackened trees dusted with ice and snow, the quiet and solitude of it all. So leaving the road and cutting through the pines was a welcome change of pace, even if the snow thickened following the mountain ridge that circled Winterhold.

The trek was broken only once to eat, the majority of the rations going into it. Lyrielle broke apart chunks from the rolls Tilma made for travels; heavy with dried fruit and nuts, they could make a decent meal on their own when no game was to be found. I was biting more strips of dried venison when Lyrielle broached a question I'd been avoiding.

"Did Kodlak ever name the next Harbinger?"

I paused in chewing, looking out through the forest. "…Skjor had been named, should Kodlak fall before he did. But no one since."

"Ah… it would be the Circle who decides then?"

"With the grace of the other Companions."

There was a short silence while she chewed, "I suppose I had always assumed…"

"Hmm?"

"That you'd be named next."

It would be a lie if I said my ego wasn't flattered by that, or if I hadn't considered the possibility.

"Aela has seniority, as an actual initiate to the Circle a short time before Farkas and myself. It is not the only factor to be considered, of course." I glanced to her, "…You really thought it would be me?"

"Well, yes. Do you think because we weren't great friends I'd be insensible to your qualities? Besides… Kodlak loved you, and I think he favoured you for the position. There were times I thought he was grooming you for it. Would you want to be Harbinger?"

"It's not… something a man should _want_. Not a throne or crown to be fought over; no one becomes Harbinger for their own sakes or selfish reasons."

I spoke to cover the sting; for all her assertions, there remained the fact Kodlak had _not_ named me, meaning he had a _reason_ not to.

We were soon moving again, restless as we closed in to the target. The track became a clearer as we went, small branches snapped or dragged footprints under the fresher frost of that day. Then, the scent caught on the wind… the Silverhand were made distinct by their silver weapons and talismans; to a werewolf, the scent could burn like pepper.

The sun had begun to lower in the sky when the first sign of Driftshade broke through the trees; the small square fort only had remnants of walls around it, and for all the world looked like nothing more than a small stone hut poking up form the snow, a lean-to of a stable near it. We moved crouch by a fallen tree to observe the place.

"…It's bigger on the inside?" Lyrielle asked with a hint of sarcasm I chose to ignore.

"Aye, it's an old military post, contrasted more in underground tunnels."

We slid away travel packs and cloaks, but I couldn't take my eyes off the place, my mind calculating the possibilities - how many inside, the most likely layout of the guts of the place, according to the age and influence. It was then movement in the distance caught my eye.

Lyrielle was busy hiding the packs, speaking lowly, "That may not be the only entrance to the place. Should we circle and look for a- what is it?"

Blood pulsed hot in my veins, the taste of it in my mouth. A Silverhand guard had stepped out onto the roof of the small building, looking out to the other side. His arm was bound in a sling to his side, nursing a bloody injury on his shoulder… one I'd seen Athis give him the morning Kodlak died.

I drew my sword in one smooth motion and started forward, halted when Lyrielle grabbed my arm, hissing.

"Vilkas, stop-"

"We've waited long enough, it's time to tear them apart!"

"There's two of us and Gods know how many of them inside. We take out the scout from a distance first to stop him raising an alarm, go in there, keep quiet if we can and we get Wuuthrad back."

"We don't trade in sneaking." I wrenched my arm free of her, "They'll pay for what they did and they'll pay in blood."

"That doesn't mean you have to be stupid about this; don't lose your head, it's the only thing you've got going for you."

"Do _not_ start right now-"

"I wouldn't have to if you weren't charging off on your-"

Perhaps we thought we'd been whispering. Whispering loud enough for the Silverhand to hear, and then spot us.

The man froze a moment before dashing for the door; Lyrielle and I swore in unison and raced across the snow, trying to reach him. A crack of her lightning punched a hole in the mortar of the building right by the man's head; we were paces away when he threw himself inside, about to slam the door closed behind him-

With a crack he was thrown backwards when I kicked it back open, silenced as I swung my blade and half severed his head from shoulders. Not so quiet as Herself wanted, but we were in.

As expected… the hut stood only as a small antechamber before the stairs that lead down into the earth, sounds of life echoing up from it.

A rustle of light armour came from the stairs, someone coming to inspect the noise. Lyrielle moved to one side of the doorway, myself to the other and flattened our backs to the walls, teeth gritted in frustration.

"If you had-"

"-just listened to me-" she hissed the very same words at the very same moment I did, before we both fell silent as the sound closed in.

Turning my blade in my hands I narrowed my eyes, listening, sensing for the moment-

The Silverhand stepped out into the antechamber and I drove my sword through his side, felling him in an instant then nodded to Lyrielle.

"Behind me."

The twisting of her mouth told me she was biting her tongue but she nodded none the less, spell in one hand and her staff at the ready. We started the descent, the pulsing scent of the enemy's beating hearts growing stronger. Around the last curve revealed the first chamber - three more enemies. Two more doors.

In a breath they spied us, and Lyrielle fired her staff through the space at my side, the small fireball shooting in a flash across to the far end of the room before erupting in a massive bloom.

I charged while their confusion and fear were ripe, the familiar cries of battle and steel on silver singing in my ears, now joined by the static air and sharp crack of lightning Lyrielle cast. It had been years since I had fought alongside the Dragonborn, but I hadn't forgotten the power she possessed, nor had I failed to notice how her magic had grown in strength. A magic-user she might have been, but a truly fearless heart beat in her chest.

With the dead at our feet there was hardly a moment to catch breath; battle cries echoed from the left chamber as more hunters rushed in, a woman pointing her axe at me.

"He wears the armour!"

I rolled tension from shoulder and neck with a faint crack, and launched the attack. Their numbers were greater but it was far from the first time I or Lyrielle had faced off against these hunters.

Between parries and cleaves my mind flickered to her position, the first hint of worry when I saw the great Redguard bearing down on her with a silver longsword she was dodging and ducking the way out of-

My attention lost her when I drove my sword into the neck of a Silverhand and pushed another off me - reinforcements were coming from the side door again, and glancing to Lyrielle I saw the Redguard the moment he landed a heavy kick into her chest and sent her falling back.

A hard blow contacted with my helmet and I spun to counter, hacking into the Silverhand's arm, heart pounding when I looked back to her-

She was scrambling up from her feet, the Redguard's sword lifted high above his head-

 _'Could I make it to her in time?'_

Lyrielle's expression darkened and her feet slipped into a familiar position; the Redguard brought his sword down as she swung her staff, but twisted slightly to draw back at the last moment, then thrust forward; the staff struck upward under the Redguard's chin and there was a pulse of magic in the air as she fired. I'd seen that trick of hers before.

So I knew to shield my face.

The air cracked with the sudden sound of exploding bone and wet flesh spattering the walls, floor, ceiling. The Redguard's headless body stumbled a moment, geysers of blood erupting from it before it fell to the ground with a thud.

The sheer shock of seeing their comrade's head explode caused the other Silverhand to falter, and we used the confusion to our best advantage. Their numbers meant nothing.

Each slash and thick pool of their blood on the stone fed the lust for it, even when the swarm lay dead around us and we inspected the room, my foot sliding a moment over the dark mass that poured from the headless Redguard.

"I remember that move," I huffed.

"You should," Lyrielle commented, wiping blood from her face, "It was you who taught it to me."

"Mention that the next time someone says pole arms are a pointless skill, aye?"

The far door was barred, but I was familiar with how these bunkers were often laid out; a series of chambers linked in a circular way by the tunnels and halls.

"Let's move; if you get outnumbered, there should be a hallway either side of a chamber you can lead them into-"

"-And bottle neck them. Two Silverhand, one fireball," Lyrielle nodded, and we set off through the winding chain of rooms and tunnels. The place was badly kept, debris never being hauled out and damp hung in the air, muddled with other stinks of silver, and something dead.

We met with more resistance passing through a room filled with wine and mead barrels stacked to the ceiling; this time Lyrielle quickly pushed me back as the Silverhand came at us; in a flash she threw a bolt of her magic not at them but at the ground. Something clanged and the trap sprang to life, a swinging gate of spikes that slammed into them. As the dust cleared I saw the pressure plate Lyrielle had triggered, catching them in their own trap.

"Clever girl."

"I have my moments." She gave her staff a leisurely twirl and we moved on, slowing only long enough in each room to check if the fragments may have been hidden. The wolf snarled in me, consumed by the hunt; though many Silverhand had met us in the first chamber, more hearts still pulsed in this rat hole.

Sudden icy wind whispered through the tunnels and I saw my companion shiver. Rounding through another common room, we found the source: Part of the fort had crumbled and a new tunnel had been cut out of the ice, creating a chilled room inside the glacier… and within, the iron cages. Lyrielle slowly approached them, but unfamiliar canine scents caused my hackles to raise.

Behind the bars a huge werewolf huffed, snarling quietly at her; instinct forced my hand and I reached out and pulled her back when the beast flashed its white fangs and snapped, teeth clanging on the bars.

"Careful," I warned, looking at the snarling, drooling creature, "They're lost ones. Nothing we can do for them now."

She glanced from me to it, and frowned.

"There has to be something, there's a human in there-"

"They're gone." I urged her away, "They belong to Hircine now, and we have the Silverhand to deal with."

Lost ones always reminded me what I could become myself. I didn't like being near things that were given over so much to Hircine, but in hurrying her to the room adjacent, we discovered something far worse.

The stone walls, lit gold by the fire were all but painted with blood, the floor, even the rock ceiling of the room. Tools and knives hung from racks and cast twisted shadows across the place and even more were laid out on bloody wooden tables. Pelts left rolled up in a pile… bones in baskets being picked at by rats, and torture racks leant against walls.

"Those… bloody barbarians…" Lyrielle hissed in quiet fury. It was not just the smell of death, but werewolves… the deep, rattling snarl crept up through my throat. Any control I thought I had over my actions was slipping away as the wolf howled in my skull.

 _'Blood for blood!'_ It purred, _'_ W _e will have vengeance, and they will know terror before the end!'_

"There will be none left to tell their stories." My pace picked up, out of the blood-soaked room to close in on the Silverhand's last refuge, "Only songs of Jorrvaskr will be sung."

Behind the door ahead I could almost taste each pulse of their frightened hearts… the wolf's senses were taking over, but I was beyond caution, ramming my shoulder into the door but it shuddered and refused to give; I braced and kicked the door heavily; it rattled and strained but had been barred from the other side; my teeth ground together.

"Damn," I growled, then Lyrielle moved around me, a hand on my cuirass encouraging me away.

"Stand back-"

I did, readying my sword as she braced her position, then drew in a deep breath.

 _"FUS ROH **DAH!** "_

With a thunderclap the thick wooden doors were ripped from their hinges and thrown into the room in splinters. The door flattened a Silverhand who had been in the way, and set the room to panic.

"The fragments!" Someone shouted, "Get the fragments-"

The war-cry rose within me and I charged into the chaos, bringing my sword down on the first blindsided thug and cleaving from shoulder through his chest.

As I drew my weapon free from the twitching body the momentum carried to the next foe and steel met steel; the woman slid the twin short swords down my blade to drive her elbow at my head. I took the hit and once she was close, charged her into the wall of the mezzanine, throwing all the weight of myself and my armour behind. Her cry cut short when her ribs crushed in and she slid to the ground, finished as I brought down the killing blow and looking for the next threat.

A scrawny Silverhand, likely a recruit was scrambling to stuff fragments into a cloth sack. I knew Lyrielle had joined the fight only a step after myself, and at first glance I thought she was in trouble; a Silverhand had gotten too close, a glimmering mace held high in one hand, and he'd grabbed her staff when she'd braced it across herself for protection; but his body was convulsing, bright blue snapping over his skin. Lyrielle's eyes glimmered with magic as she channeled her lightning through the metal of the staff and into the man's body.

...Time seemed to suddenly slow, when I picked up a familiar scent…

My insides churning with toxic hatred... A hulking Orc charged from the far side, the white paint marked over his face in a hand-print, his silver sword held high.

Bringing the sword down towards Lyrielle's back.

I launched forward with a wild roar and when he saw me, the mer was forced to abandon his attack to try and defend himself. Our swords clashed but the fury blinded me so, it drove me forward and forced him onto the back foot. A crack of lightning struck him - _Lyrielle-_

"The fragments!" I barked at her, "Go!"

A moment's hesitation and she went, and the Orc was left to me. He was strong, practised, but at his core a coward. Striking old men and little women from behind to claim a kill…

The wolf whispered to me… _prey…_

Another furious bellow thundered from my core as I slashed down, carving through his hide armour and cutting open a wound from shoulder to hip. He buckled to the ground but I spun with the momentum and brought another blow down to his arm, feeling the blade sever to the bone. The Orc's weapons clattered to the ground.

"You dogs will _pay!_ " He croaked, trying to cradle the wounds bleeding so freely to the stone, "You'll all fall on silver blades just as your beast Harbinger did! The Silverhand will have its revenge!"

His words brought the moment back before my eyes. _The blood-stained sword. Kodlak's falling body. The smirk of the Orc that now knelt at my feet._

When I spoke, it was with a raw voice through gritted teeth.

"There won't be a Silverhand to seek it."

I should have driven my sword down into his heart, or severed his head from shoulders. But that felt too kind. My weapon clattered to the ground and I dropped, slamming a fist into the Mer's face. My gauntlets thudded and there was a snap as his tusk broke loose of his jaw and without pause I hammered my fists down again and again, punctuating the words I shouted-

"COWARD! YOU! _FUCKING! BASTARD!_ "

Blood started arching in the air and followed my movement. His skin split, muscle crushed and bone began to fracture under each blow but it wasn't enough; the Beast was roaring in me for the bloody vengeance, with an appetite that would never be satiated. Somewhere, my name was being called.

"Vilkas!"

The Orc reached up with his remaining hand to try and push me away and claw past my helm. Without a thought I gripped his wrist and snapped the bone, drinking in his howl of pain only to throw my fists down again. Fresh, dark blood spurted over the stone. I felt a tug on the back of my cuirass.

"Vilkas that's enough!"

"He killed Kodlak!" I snarled, but the words were twisted; lower, guttural, snarling. The howling in my head… the smell of the prey's blood on my hands consumed me. The wolf was hungry. It could smell the Mer's heart pounding and my mouth watered… _crack his chest open, crush the heart between your teeth… feast…_

There was pressure in my armour as bones buckled and muscle grew, a prickling over my skin as black fur threatened to sprout… a female's arms around my neck, trying to pull me off my prey.

"Vilkas! Enough!" She shouted, summoning a bolt of lighting; " _Enough!_ "

She blasted the shock at the Orc's head - his death was instant. Blood stopped pumping from his body. The heart fluttered to a standstill. In a fleeting moment I'd somehow realised what she'd done, standing and throwing the little woman off me. When I turned on her, I didn't see Lyrielle. I saw the rival that had stolen my kill, smelled the wolf in her, and knew she had to die for it.

The little prey scrambled for her staff but I was faster, grabbing with claws and lifting her body in the air by the straps of her clothes.

"He was _mine_ to kill!"

"Not yours to torture!" She struggled, clawing at my hands, "Let go of me! Kaan, Drem OV!"

Ancient words pulsed out through the room, and my mind went silent.

Tension, anger, the wild bloodlust, all drained so rapidly out of me that my head spun... My armour creaked as my body eased back to its proper form, and in a dizzy moment I saw where I was, what I was doing. Lyrielle's breathing was quick and shallow, trying to support herself by gripping my wrists.

"…Get your hands, _out_ of my clothes," she warned with a furious, quiet gasp and I quickly put her down, taking rapid steps back from her.

I'd nearly transformed… and I'd nearly killed my Shield Sister.

Looking down there was blood covering my armour and hands, and I could feel it on my face. My armour was loosened in places where the snaps had given as the beast blood tried to force the change. Lyrielle moved cautiously to pick up her staff, holding it at the ready and I saw her throat and chest covered in blood.

"Did I… you're not hurt, are you?" I asked quickly, my voice returned. Lyrielle's stance was by degrees less defensive.

"No."

Quiet hummed in the room, a consuming sense of peace I had no idea how to handle. No more alive in these tunnels but myself and Lyrielle. I glanced to the Orc, stomach churning when I suddenly remembered the feeling of his skull crunching under my gauntlets.

 _What have I done? What have I given in to?_

Lyrielle sighed, approaching and putting a hand on my arm, encouraging me to move and I didn't have the sense to do anything else but comply. She urged me up to the left mezzanine and sat me down on the bench, then pointed a finger at me.

"Sit. Stay."

"Very funny." I leant forward, elbows on my knees and watched Lyrielle wander through the large room, collecting the bag of Wuthraad's fragments where she must have dropped them. The mezzanine across the way was clearly where the Silverhand worked their armour, furnished with workbenches and anvils. The level we were on had a hearth fire to one corner and a cupboard. Not as well stocked as the kitchen further back, but served for extra bottle storage. When she returned she was biting the cork out of a round green bottle, loosing it with a hollow pop before pouring dark wine into a wooden cup.

"Drwink," She said calmly around the cork between her teeth and handed me the cup. I didn't want it, but I felt I owed her a good deal of compliance, so finished it in one. She sat on the bench along the other side of the table and set the bottle and the sack of fragments down, spitting the cork away lazily.

"Let it breathe before you pour another, if you insist on feeding me that," I growled, and sat the cup back down on table, blinking a few times and looking to the dim fire that illuminated one of the bodies laying nearby. I was in a daze, submerged in absolute calm.

"Lyrielle… what did you do to me just now?" I asked quietly.

She tilted her head, "The shout?"

I nodded.

"It only just occurred to me… and I'm glad it worked because otherwise I'd have used unrelenting force and that could have gotten messy... It's a shout I sometimes use in the wilderness, to calm and ease wild animals. Useful should I blunder into a bear cave and am in no mood to kill the creature."

"And it worked on the Beast Blood…" I murmured. Tame a wild animal. Even one hidden in human flesh.

"Well, it works on mine," Lyrielle added gently, "Learning those words, meditating on them when the Beast wanted control… it's how I mastered it. Are you alright?"

"…Aye." I looked up at her soft face, the blood on her neck drawing my gaze lower. That's when I saw the lines of dark scratches and bruises, disappearing under the neckline of her tunic. Shame shot through my chest like an arrow and I looked away.

"I'm sorry…"

"What-?" She asked, then looked at her injuries, clearing her throat and sneaking a small healing spell. "I've had worse."

She was trying to be casual about this which was a favour I didn't deserve. That churning in my stomach worsened when I recalled she was the one who had tried to stop me from doing this in the first place. That we were only here for the fragments.

I came here wanting vengeance and blood to honour Kodlak in death and what had happened? I'd disregarded the council of my Shield Sister, brutalised my enemies, I'd let my bloodlust get the better of me to the point of nearly transforming.

But knowing that I had hurt her… I should have been _protecting_ her but my own hands caused those scrapes and bruises. My heart thudded against my ribcage.

"You think me a monster?" I asked quietly. She raised an eyebrow.

"I think you a lot of things but monster wasn't what came to mind… Don't worry. I can handle you."

I found I believed her. My gaze travelled through the room and fell on the dead Silverhand Orc; fury flashed through me again but it was human fury, tempered with a sickening at what I'd done to the mer.

"…I thought I was better than that," I growled, "He deserved to die for what he did to Kodlak, but…"  
Lyrielle refilled my cup and this time I drank it a little more gratefully.

"If you're going to keep this up," I warned, "Get yourself a cup."

"I don't know that we'll be staying here long. Though I have no objection to plundering these hunters, and they have horses on the surface."

Bah, Bretons… This time I topped up the cup and held it out to her. With a resigned sigh she took a mouthful, lips twisting at the taste.

"Not bad… better used for mulled wine, I think," then sipped again, handing the cup back to me and I drained it. It wasn't muting the churning guilt though.

"I have half a mind to wait out the night here," I growled.

"There could be more Silverhand on their way," She warned, "We'll take what we can, and go."

"More Silverhand arriving is the allure of staying," I murmured, sparing her a sideward glance, but she just shook her head.

"Vilkas, I came to get back the pieces of Wuuthrad. And because you made me. And to stop you doing something stupid that would get you killed."

"You never wanted justice for Kodlak's death?"

"There is great difference between revenge and justice. I promise you Vilkas, nothing good will ever come of revenge."

I stared into the fire. Maybe I'd been hoping for her to validate what I did, tell me it was alright… but we are Companions. Lies do not become us.

"…You sound just like him," I said quietly, then peered up at her. There were times she spoke with such surety and apparent wisdom, one had to wonder what else had happened in that short life of hers. "What do you know of revenge?"

There was no answer right away; she seemed to be really thinking on it, even taking the cup of wine and sipping.

"…I know we're sitting in the middle of it," Lyrielle quietly began, "I know it's the difference between an execution and murder. I know if you carry a grudge long enough, all that hatred and bitterness will become a curse, one as corrupting as the Beast already in us."

These weren't the sweet and naive words one may heard preached at a Temple. They were world-weary, and learned through hard lessons.

…How did Lyrielle find such grace of mind, when I seemed to have been gifted none from Kodlak, in spite of all he taught me?

A hollowness opened somewhere near my heart… but a weight over my hand served as a distraction and to my surprise, Lyrielle had reached out, gently gripping my hand. The kindness of the action felt alien and undeserved, and I drew away.

Rally. Carry on. There will be time to grieve in the future.

"Alright. Let's get what we can and move." I stood and adjusted my armour, pressing some of the buckles and clips back into place and tried to ignore the growing pain in my hands.

The shout was wearing off as we gathered our spoils, letting darker and more chaotic thoughts enter my mind. The wolf at least continued to sleep but it was hard to come up with responses to things Lyrielle would ask. So, we moved from room to room.  
I'd have liked to take more silver, but the weapons in particular repulsed, and there was the matter of carrying the bounty back to Whiterun. Instead we moved through the rooms and living quarters, checking for stray coin purses and caches, or morsels for the road. We left the bodies untouched. A few buckets of water gave us an opportunity to roughly clear the dried blood from armour and skin, and Lyrielle did come across a few dossiers too, which I bound up to take back to Jorrvaskr.

Know thine enemy, excetera…

Sunlight was abandoning us by the time we left the fort and retrieved our hidden gear, however there were two more things worth taking from the place; the horses sheltered in the lean-to near the fort.

There was room for four but only a convenient two stood there, one a dark bay, the other dappled, legs black and mane and tail silver. They'd been hobbled with rope that we had to cut away, the long feathers of hair around their feet worn and rubbed to the skin; much longer and they would have started cutting in. The animals didn't seem to bothered when we began loading them up, but closer inspection made me frown. Thin bodies for Nord-bred horses, dull coats. They didn't look young.

"They must be communal, probably used to werewolf smell by now," Lyrielle muttered as she petted the dapple's neck. "Pretty thing, aren't you? Or you will be after a brush and a few good dinners."

It huffed the same moment I did.

"I don't know that we'll get much for them," I grumbled, fastening my pack to the bay, "They'd sooner be meat for the dogs."

"So we keep them stabled?" She suggested, giving the dapple a rub on the nose, "The Companions don't have any travelling horses, and these two seem nice enough…"

What is it with women and horses? "They're nags."

"So are you."

"Well, that was disappointing, Lyrielle," I said dryly as I ran my hand down to the animal's hoof and checked the shoes, one by one. Recently shod, at least. From that vantage point I did notice Lyrielle awkwardly hopping and trying to get up onto the horse's back. I chuckled to myself and let her struggle a little longer before going over, wrapping my hands around her waist and lifting her straight up and into the saddle.

If she thanked me I didn't notice, the action made the pain in my hands flare again. Kodlak's words echoed in my head no matter how I tried to shut them out. _'Good way to remind you that a man's skull is a lot stronger than the wee bones in your hands.'_

The sun had just dropped behind the mountain when we finally rode out into the forest; we decided to travel further west and take the Wayward Pass south, rather than retrace out steps. Maybe a longer path but an easier one that Lyrielle knew better; a common route from Winterhold to Whiterun. Light faded further and stars began to dot the skies; the night always seemed brighter this side of the mountain with the ever-present dusting of snow over the land.

We rode on in silence through the mountain pass, seeing the lonely light of Nightgate Inn glinting off Lake Yorgrim once we reached the summit. The dapple's hoof falls picked up and Lyrielle rode up next to me, breaking me out of my trance.

"I won't lie; I'd be very grateful if we don't camp tonight," She said, gently rocking with the rhythm of the horse as we slipped down the slope. She had huddled her cloak tight around herself again and tried to hide how cold she felt. I hadn't been thinking about stopping, or where to camp. I'd been thinking about the pain radiating from a few of the injuries I'd collected and letting the sensation distract me from heavier thoughts.

There was no reason not to stop, so I nodded in agreement.

"As you wish."


	3. Suture

**WARNING: This chapter is huge, insanely dialogue heavy... and also very NSFW. MA rating  
**

* * *

 **LYRIELLE**

Nightgate was a lonesome place; one might call it happily situated, but so far from a village or city I doubt it saw more than the stray traveller crossing down the way.

After stabling the horses we made our way inside. Like most inns the hall was dominated by a long hearth running down the middle, a few small rooms off the sides and a bar up the far end, the stairs to the cellar behind that. I could see only three people there; an Orc who vanished down the stairs upon seeing us enter, the inn keeper, and a solitary man in the corner, drinking away his sorrows.

"Ah, hello there travellers," the man behind the bar called out; he was tall, bald with a long beard, but most noticeable was the long scar that ran from forehead to cheek, blinding his left eye. He seemed surprised to see us. "Come to the Nightgate Inn for food, or lodging?"

Vilkas followed me solemnly to the bar as I fished out my coin bag, "Both, thank you. We've two horses stabled, too… What's on the pot tonight?"

"A good fish stew; got some nice salmon this time of year, caught today, and there's a room available."

"That should do it, two serves and the room, please. Do you have a few extra furs or blankets?" I asked. He glanced between us only briefly then nodded.

"Aye, you'll find some in the wardrobe. And what's your poison?"

I glanced to Vilkas who was now pulling out his coin bag and pushing my hands down when I had drawn out a few septims.

"Do you have whiskey?"

"Huh, can't say I do… not often asked for. I have a shipment of distilled mead from Honningbrew. It's a kick in the-" he paused remembering my presence, "-It's uh, got a real kick to it."

"Hm. I'll take a bottle. Lyrielle?"

"I'll take a kick in the ass too."

The innkeeper laughed, "The sound of a lady, the words of a Nord, huh? I'll fix that up."

We drew up stools by the bar and sat down heavily; aches and pains that had been quiet before were starting to bloom now the heat of battle waned, and I was not the only one to feel it. When the two dark bottles and cups were set down before us, Vilkas managed to hold back his wince as he undid his gauntlets and slid them off.

My eyes widened seeing the dried blood and purple bruises, covering his knuckles and snaking up to his wrists.

"Vilkas!" I chided, leaning over to inspect them, "Why didn't say something before?"

"Ah calm yourself, they didn't hurt badly." He took a cloth from behind the bar to start wiping at the dried blood and broken skin. I turned in my seat and took one wrist, drawing his hand to me.

"You know you could have made this worse by putting off treatment, you're not that daft. Can you move your fingers?"

"Aye." He demonstrated, though I noticed a little less mobility in his ring and pinky fingers, so I huffed a lock of hair from my face, summoning a healing spell. To that he went to pull his hands back but I held him fast.

"You're no good to me injured. I'm very selfish like that." I smirked, glancing up and seeing the look mirrored on his own face. At least nothing seemed broken or dislocated… at least, not to the point of uselessness. I really should focus on Restoration more, it's just that Collette as an instructor can make the subject so insufferable… regardless, the bruises changed colour and gradually shrunk as the golden wisps of light circled from wrist to fingertip, the broken skin sealing over knuckles.

I ran my thumbs carefully up and down the bones, checking for any more damage.

"There. Better?"

"Mmhm." Vilkas tilted his head as he looked at me, amused, "I wonder if one day I'll find your scolding and nagging a comfort. It's certainly familiar enough."

I flicked his knuckle. If it hurt, it didn't show.

The innkeep then returned and set our dinners down, and when the smell of the food hit my nose my stomach recalled how empty it was and growled. It looked damn good, a deep red stew and even the thick salmon cuts and slivers of the crisped skin on top looked appetising to me. I think I heaped three spoonfuls into my mouth before I slowed down, and realised what I was tasting…

 _By the tits of Dibella, this is good!_ I shovelled the stew into my mouth, senses overwhelmed with the decadent flavours, tender, flaking fish and rich spices. I thought I learnt to make a good clam chowder on Solsthiem, but this was exquisite.

"Divines, did you make this?" I asked the innkeep and he chuckled, pouring our drinks.

"No, miss, I can't take credit for that. We have a resident here, an Orc. Keeps to himself, but he do love to cook, always buying spices from them cats that come travelling by here. I'll never complain, never ate so well in my life as when he took up here. Strange fella… but real refined for an Orc, y'know."

Beside me Vilkas quirked an eyebrow, mopping up his stew with his bread. He didn't seem as in raptures as me and I suddenly remembered… _'Food and drink have no true flavour.'_ Knowing that now, it seemed so unfair what he was missing out on… reminding myself to beg for the recipe tomorrow I left the conversation where it was.

"Does the room have a wash basin?" I asked and the keep nodded,

"Aye. I'll heat some water for you?"

"Thank you."

He nodded and set himself to work, and we were quiet a moment to fill up on supper. Vilkas picked up his cup, tipping it toward me and raised up my own.

 _"Skal,"_ We toasted, and with a good bit of curiosity I tried my first dram; it drew a sharp wince from me and I forced myself to swallow it down and coughed. I heard Vilkas chuckle.

"Too much for you?"

"I thought it would be sweet! That… that puts a fire in you…" I cleared my throat, finding that once the first so called 'kick' was done, it left a warm honeyed flavour. "But before I have much more, any more injuries?"

"Save that magic for your leg; don't think I didn't see you favouring it." He said, then added wryly, "You're no good to me injured."

I chuckled, summoning the spell and letting the light wash around me. The Innkeeper started as he was carrying water to the fire and I quickly waved my hand, "Sorry, sorry, not dangerous I promise."

"Uhh, of course," he nodded shortly, "Seen enough magic in my day to know to stay away from it…"

I sighed a little as he passed, noting how he edged around me so I snuffed out the spell; the aches were gone at least.

"I forget sometimes, when I'm outside of Winterhold," I explained to Vilkas, "Getting used to it though."

"Try not to worry about it. Despite how some people act, there's plenty of magic outside of Winterhold," He replied, a statement that caught me a little by surprise. "You've grown in strength since we last fought together."

"I believe you have too… though truthfully you were always pretty terrifying with that greatsword in hand-"

" _-Longsword_. Come now Lyrielle you should know that."

"I know what it is… you said it would be a greatsword to me."

"Technically, height-wise. But you being the size of a chicken doesn't change the design of the weapon."

 _Chicken? Alright, let's have some fun,_ "…What design? They're both big swords you swing with two hands, there's no diff-"

He gave me a sharp warning look, "Don't… finish… that sentence…"

"…There isn't any difference, I think men just really like making swords that are bigger than everyone else's."

"A great sword," he scolded, "has a thinner blade in proportion to its size and is designed to be used with more pole arm techniques than a traditional sword-fighting style. A _longsword-_ " he stopped short, perceiving something in the forced innocence of my look. "Bah… you are a wicked thing…"

He tore into some more bread as I pulled mine apart with some satisfaction. After some more quiet moments eating, Vilkas drained his cup, and nodded to me.

"You said you mediated on the words of that shout?"

"Mmphm," I replied. My mouth was full.

"Do you know how exactly that helped you to control it?" He was leaning his elbows on the bar, looking to me curiously and I knew he was wondering if it could work for him, too. I delayed my answer by chewing.

"The words of power… when you understand them in a way that lets you Shout, the words are taken into your soul. If you spend time focusing on them, they become more a part of you. So, _Kaan, Drem, OV._ Kyne, Peace, Trust. When I focused on the power of those words it beat the… 'blood'." I paused, "If you could learn one of those words you'd be able to meditate on them in the same way. Not that it's easy…"

"I was about to say, we're not all you." When he spoke again his voice had lowered a little, "Though I did wonder if the Dragon blood made it more difficult with the beast."

"Hard to say for sure… though, I was told the Dragonblood meant I was given a powerful will to Dominate."

Vilkas actually laughed at that, a deep sound I discovered I liked, despite the fact it was levelled at me.

"What? Paarthunax said as much!"

"No, no, you just-" He had to look away, composing himself, "You put a very, very unexpected image in my head."

I felt my face scrunch quizzically, "What sort of image?"

"It's… not important."

"It's evidently hilarious though, what?"

"Who's Paarthunax?" Vilkas moved to refill our cups and I narrowed my eyes at him.

"Inelegant change of subject."

"But, a more interesting one."

I paused, a sudden twist of discomfort when I realised my slip up. "…Vilkas, be careful who you say that name to," I said softly. The gravity of my tone caught him and he nodded, the smile fading to seriousness.

"Aye… I'll speak it to no one else if it's that serious-"

"Even Farkas?" That made him blink. They'd shared a womb, I had figured they shared all secret matters too. He steadily met my gaze, hunting something in my eyes again, and eventually nodded.

"You have my word."

Hearing that gave me the strange sensation of being securely held; from anyone else, even Tristane I would have taken such a promise with a grain of salt. But not Vilkas… His code was carved into his very bones. I didn't need to be his closest or oldest friend to know that.

"I appreciate it. I… worry if his name was made too easily known it could, I'm not sure, put him in danger or something like it."

"Danger, what sort of…?" Vilkas leaned in a little, "Who is this Paarthunax?"

I hesitated before catching the look in his pale blue eyes. I did have his word…

"The master of the Greybeards. He taught men the Thu'um by the grace of Kyne. He helped me, taught me, in fact without him I would never have known how to defeat Alduin. Paarthunax is my friend, and the Blades want him dead."

"…So what's the part you're not telling me?"

The corner of my mouth hitched up into a little smile; he _was_ a quick one. "The Blades want him dead, because hunting dragons is what they do."

Vilkas' eye widened a little and leant back. "The master of the Greybeards is a-?"

"Mmhm."

"…But if he helped, you, why would they want him dead?"

"The Blades-" I stopped, trying to think of a way to explain, "Paarthunax was not always so good and peaceful as he is now. In the Merethic Era, when Dragons ruled over mankind he - like every other dragon - was aligned with Alduin. He committed many atrocities, and doesn't deny it… but he was the only one to take a stand and help mankind. Since Alduin's banishment at the end of the Dragon War, he waited at the Throat of the World, meditating on how to overcome his evil nature and be more than he was created to be."

I toyed with my cup and sighed. "Four and a half thousand years is a long time to spend in penance."

"Longer still for the Blades to bear their grudge," Vilkas commented; that line between his eyebrows had deepened and knotted as he thought. "…That's why they banished you, isn't it? They wanted you to kill him, and you refused."

"Pieced it all together, have you?" I smiled softly.

"All but one part," Vilkas added with a murmur so low I nearly didn't catch it. I drained my cup and filled it with another dram, debating if I should take the bait. The warmth had become a lightheadedness, relaxing my restraints after the past days.

"…You mean Vorstag."

"That was his name then? Your Blade."

I caught the bitter inflection on those last two words, though the meaning eluded me. My shoulders shrugged as I tried to keep my feelings at a distance.

"It still is his name. I simply don't call him mine anymore."

Vilkas drummed his fingers and an uneasy quiet settled; sitting close to me as he was I could see the hesitation he eventually gave in to.

"Alright. I have to ask it even if I don't expect you to answer. How was it the Blades' grudge against a dragon caused you to lose your love? Anyone who had seen you together at Dragonsreach would have thought-" he stopped short, perhaps seeing something on my face I quickly tried to conceal. He sighed, "I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm prying. Well, no, I do actually; the man landed the Dragonborn, one has to wond-"

"Landed me? What, first I'm a chicken, now I'm a fish?"

"Aye, and if he'd married you he'd have bought the cow."

Vilkas tried to hold back his grin and ducked as I reached over to whack him on the head.

"Alright, alright" he held up his hands a little defensively, "…I suppose I spoiled my chances of hearing the story then."

I considered it, taking a drink. "I had two years to forget the business before it returned to bite me… You're a clever enough man. You tell me what you think happened, I'll tell you if you're right or not. And if not… skal."

I felt the weight of Vilkas' gaze on me, and to my surprise, he actually continued the story.

"…You met him when the Blades found you. But, his oath prevented him from taking you as wife."

I nodded to his drink with a flat expression and with a grumble he threw back the dram, taking a moment to think.

"…You'd met him _before_ the Blades then," he started slowly, "He swore an oath… believing it bound him in servitude to the Dragonborn. Binding himself to you, perhaps in the place of the blessings of Mara… that _you_ didn't know you should undertake." He read the truth on my face, continuing, "But when Alduin was dead, and the time came to stand by his woman and leave with her… he failed to do what was right."

Our eyes met for a long moment, broken only when I picked up my cup, "And that's why they say you have Ysgramor's smarts." I sipped, and summoned a smile to my face to lighten the mood, "So began the great two-year tantrum known as my time in Solstheim."

"Ah, I should not have suggested that. If it's worth anything, he sounds like too stupid a man for you to spend your time with."

That gave me a crooked grin and I sipped to conceal it some. I cleared my throat, "Well, as said, I thought I'd had a good two years to leave it behind me. But I suppose some spark of it must have remained. A sort of naive hope, else things wouldn't have turned out the way they did in Blackreach, after I'd come back."

"Blackreach? It exists then?" he nodded, "Trust you to have seen it."

"Yes, and by the time I'm thirty there'll be no wonder left for me in the world…" I teased him back. His eyes showed the expectancy of one who was listening; I found myself continuing.

"Well there are geodes there where you can mine soul gems, so I'd set up camp there for a se'night or so to work on my enchanting skills and thesis. Soul gems can end up being expensive and I didn't even particularly need grand ones, just a large quantity so I could keep practising the motions, you see when-"

He looked a little amused, and I nodded, "Yes, I'm digressing… the first time I ever passed through that place, Vorstag had been with me. So… you can imagine my amazement when I discovered him walking through the cavern, and he seemed just as in awe to see me, as if the Gods had brought us back together."

There was a pause when a flicker of the memory covered my eyes. The unforgettable Blades armour, the blonde hair still hanging loosely to his shoulders. His figure emerging through the half darkness of the Dwemer sanctuary, halting the same moment he'd spotted me. How suddenly happy he looked.

"…He said he and the Blades had been at Mount Anthor to hunt the dragon there, and he often passed time alone in Blackreach… that it was special to him. We were both so overjoyed, it was like things used to be, then we went back to my camp-" I paused, but in that context, my sudden silence said as much as plain words would. Vilkas cleared his throat, nodded, and provided me a prompt:

"And when you parted ways-?"

"Well, afterward, he kept steering the conversation towards Paarthunax. He said he wanted to meet him, and I told him I couldn't do that. But I thought, well, he's on my side now at least, he's come around. But then, when he realised he couldn't meet Paarthunax his tone started changing. Talking about justice for the crimes of the past. Understandably I was confused… then it occurred to me, he'd said he and the Blades were at Mount Anthor, slaying a Dragon… you can see that mountain from the College, the Saarthal excavation is right at the bottom of it. There's no dragon living there, there hasn't been since the day I arrived in Winterhold. I asked him, what was he really doing in Blackreach, and after a lot of coercion I got the truth."

I'd never admitted this much aloud before; that clench of humiliation made the next words stick a little as they came out.

"Delphine had found out I was returned to Skyrim. She discovered where I was, and sent him after me. _Him_ specifically. I guess to either manipulate me into taking him to Paarthunax to 'meet' him, or to kill the dragon myself. As you can imagine it descended from there into… a disagreement."

When I looked to Vilkas to gauge his reaction I was expecting either stoicism or sympathy. Of all things he looked shocked, even angry.

"You said he'd _lied_ to you-"

"He did."

"That's more than lying, Lyrielle, that's… you'd think a man couldn't degrade his own honour more. Is he still alive?"

I blinked, "Well, yes he is."

"Shors blood, tell me you at least shouted him into a lake or something? No, don't laugh this isn't funny."

"I'm not laughing." I was smiling though; and I never thought I'd again smile at the subject of Vorstag. "Think on it this way; I know what sort of man he really is now."

"Aye, the kind who'd-" he shook his head. "I won't finish that… but I am sorry. I know it's hard to believe anyone when they say they understand but. I understand."

The cups took another top up, and after that unpleasant retelling I was embracing the relaxing warmth that had come with it. Resting my elbows on the bar, I tilted my head at Vilkas, weighing his words.

"…What was her name?"

He gave me a sideward look, and after a moment conceded, "Myriah."

I scooted my chair closer, giving him a small smile and an expectant look and after some internal wrestling he sighed, drained his entire cup and refilled as he began.

"Story for a story, huh? Alright… I had just seen my nineteenth winter, on the verge of being made a full member of the Circle - gifted this very set of armour in fact. Well, the parts that haven't been replaced over time. We'd received an urgent missive from a visiting family, that their carriage had been set upon, their daughter abducted and held to ransom by bandits. The task fell to me to retrieve her, and would be my first mission I would go on alone.

I found them holed up in an old mine at the foot of the Throat of the World… I was outnumbered, but the tunnels were narrow, linear. Not always ideal when wielding a longsword, but you can stop them from surrounding you and draw them in. It'll force them to attack only one or two at a time and with the longsword, the reach actually makes it easier to-"

Vilkas paused when must have seen me trying to hide my amusement; it seems we both had habits of going off on tangents. He gave a crooked smile and nodded.

"Aye, digressing… Well, one by one, I cut my way through them to where they were keeping Myriah. And you can imagine that when you're a blooded young man of only nineteen, a meeting like that feels like a rare scene stolen from a story book. The beautiful Imperial noble-girl, rescued from the brutality of her captors by a strapping young Nord warrior in literally shining armour-"

"-And one so modest, too-"

"Exactly, damn lucky girl."

I grinned, resting my chin on my hand in enjoyment; he was a natural orator, when his guard was dropped. Vilkas tapped his cup lightly on the countertop, the ghosts of the memory playing out in his eyes. Something sweet, something sad, and something perhaps forgotten for a time.

"She was gentle, kind, tended my wounds… encouraged my role as noble protector during the journey back and I very willingly obliged. By the time I delivered her back to the arms of her family, I really believed myself to be in love. Infatuated would have been more accurate or maybe… enchanted with the idea. We continued to meet while she stayed in Whiterun though usually outside of the city walls …more than once under the cover of night. There was always a secrecy about it all but I never really questioned why; she was highborn, thought her family might not approve. And I was happy just being with her."

He paused to drink, and let go of a small sigh, allowing his tone to shift.

"The last night I saw her, I knew something was wrong but couldn't get her to tell me what… The next day I had a hunt with the Companions, and when we returned to Whiterun the morning after that, I'd made up my mind to make my intentions known to her family. Felt it was the _honourable_ thing to do. But when I got to the house, I was informed by a servant the family had left the day before for Solitude. And said she was surprised that after what I'd done for them, I hadn't gotten an invitation to Myriah's wedding."

I felt my lips part in shock. Vilkas just gave a short sigh, had some more drink and looked to me.

"Well, you can imagine my reactions. Shock, denial… _blind_ fury. At a point I'd thought to set out after them, set a challenge to the man even though Myriah would be wed by the time I reached Solitude. Fortunately I had people at Jorrvaskr to knock some sense into my thick skull, and stop me killing an aristocrat in a duel."

He had painted the picture so clearly in my mind, I couldn't help but try to imagine him back then. Vilkas not out of his teens, with a heart so open. Life has many ways of hardening people, I just never imagined _this_ could have been something to happen to him.

"You never saw her since?" I asked.

"No. Last I heard she and her husband had moved back to Cyrodil."

"I'm sorry…"

"For what? It was a lifetime ago, and I was a different person."

I regarded him a moment, "…No. Not so jaded as you are now but, I think you were always passionate."

"For all the good it's done me. A lot of it was my own fault; I allowed myself to get caught up in the fantasy of it all, blinded myself to her faults. But it's like you said; I found out what sort of a girl she really was. Maybe Myriah was just scared about her future and maybe she really did care for me as she said she did. But there was no honour, or empathy in her heart."

I nodded as a melancholy silence filled the air, then found I'd rather see him laughing. I heaved a sigh and rolled my eyes. " _Women_ , right?"

"Aye." He gave me a half smile, lifting his cup, "And the foolish men who love them."

 _"Skal."_

* * *

"Alright, so, look at the knife. You see it?"

"Difficult to miss when it's six inches from my nose."

"Uh huh but you see it, how many knives do you see?"

"…One."

We were facing one another on the barstools, knees brushing and I was, indeed, holding up a knife in front of his puzzled (and concerned) face. This was Vilkas' own fault; after the hours slipped by in the retelling of other adventures and stories of childhood, he had asked me about my thesis and experiments. By this point in the evening (and bottle), I was finding it difficult to explain the concept in any linear manner.

"Exactly. You see one blade because there is only one, right? Now in Twin Secrets the dragon explained we have two legs, two arms, ears, eyes. And _that's_ the key but there's only _one_ knife. Or… so it looks…"

"…I feel like I'm dining with Sheogorath."

"If you were there'd be more cheese."

"What?"

"Now, look at the blade, then, look _past the blade_. Don't focus on it." I watched him, and even though he frowned with suspicion there was the shift in his gaze and focus, back and forth. Then the realisation melted over his features and he gave a canny smile.

"…The knife splits in two when you look past it."

" _Exactly,_ you get it!" I said with excitement, "So in your _mind,_ there's now _two_ blades. Your hands work independently of each other, your ears can, and you must teach your _eyes_ to. So it's all in your head. And that is the key to breaking the law of firsts and putting two enchantments on an object. You duplicated the object in your perception and the two enchantments are then married in reality."

"I get the impression there is a lot in your head and sometimes it doesn't all quite fit," he chuckled. I lifted my chin, setting the knife down on the bar with a slap.

"I might make as much sense as a soup sandwich but, I've proven it works. Making me both right and fantastic."

The innkeeper - Hadring, we had eventually learned - approached from behind the bar, setting down a simple platter with a few slices of bread, some cheese and snowberries, then politely cleared his throat.

"Begging your pardon, I'll be turning in for the night; help yourselves to some supper here, unless there's something more I could fetch for you?"

"Oh, no, thank you though - Vilkas?"

He shook his head in refusal, "Apologies for keeping you, good man."

"Not at all. Rest well, travellers." The innkeep took his leave with a kind smile. With him gone, the Orc never having resurfaced, and the drunk in the corner having stumbled off to his room and passed out, Vilkas and I were quite alone.

Sitting up a little straighter I stretched, "I had no idea it had gotten so late."

"Mhm - your water will be cold."

I held out my palm, summoning a wave of flame that rippled quickly out to my fingertips and vanished. "I've got it."

"You and your tricks. Go, I'll wash after you," Vilkas nodded to the room as he smeared a cut of creamy goats cheese onto a chunk of bread. I slipped off the barstool, picking up my pack and staff and dragging myself off to the room, clicking the door closed behind me.

It was a snug space, the bed not particularly large and Hadring had already laid out furs on the floor over some hay. I held a plume of fire under the washbasin till the water was at least lukewarm, scrubbing down with the little bar of lavender soap and washrag that had been left. I had always loved getting clean; maybe it reminded me of summers on the waterfront in the Imperial city, swimming in the lake almost daily.

It was also a good chance to take stock of my injuries, though I had sped the healing of most of them. A few bruises and sealed cuts remained, which I faded with another spell - a new scar on my collarbone though.

I had some clean travel clothes tucked away at the bottom of my pack, nothing particularly impressive, but warm. Smalls, a shift, long skirt, and woollen jacket bodice were comfortable and warm, and a welcome change from my dirtied gear which I roughly scrubbed and set to dry over the back of the chair. Lastly I let my hair down, combing out the worst of the snags and felt infinitely improved.

When I walked back out into the hall I thought Vilkas did a double take, his barstool scraping as he stood.

"Skirts?" He asked shortly and I rolled my eyes a little.

"Yes, and they're very comfortable - you should give them a try."

Vilkas paused when he passed me; "I'll manage."

He spared a cursory look I thought may have lingered before heading into the room, which left me alone in the longhouse, the heat of the roaring hearth flushing my cheeks. There was a thud from the room, I guessed from Vilkas working his way out of his armour…

With a sigh I picked up the 'honeyshine', and swaying a little to a tune in my head crossed the wide wooden floors to the door outside.

That sharp Skyrim air swirled around my skirts as I pushed the door open; the cold blue landscape lay stretched out before me, misted mountains touching the sky, stars reflected in Lake Yorgrim… and the crystalline frost clinging to the dark pines. For all I said of this country… there was no denying the raw sublimity of the land.

Holding my arms around myself I took a small sip from the bottle, stepping out from the deck and down the creaking wooden steps. My boots crunched softly over the gravelly path before softening on pine needles as I slowly meandered towards the smaller lake by the inn. Looking at the positions and phases of the moons I guessed we were past the mid of night.

 _I should have taken my cloak,_ I realised a little late. At least the years in Skyrim and Solstheim had thickened my skin to the chill - not so much as the ice-blooded Nords, of course.

I wasn't particularly lost in thought as I looked out over the dark landscape; the song rolled on repetitively in my head till after a while humming, I quietly sung the words.

 _"Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,_  
 _Thunderclaps rend the air;_  
 _Baffled, our foes stand by the shore,_  
 _Follow they will not dare…"_

The next lyrics eluded me, perhaps because there were several versions of the old song, so I returned to humming before taking another sip of the honeyed drink to warm me.

A breath of wind ran up the slope, pushing my hair back in an icy blast and I closed my eyes and shuddered, moving a little more to the shelter of the trees. A heavy sigh left me, and I blinked at the long, coiling cloud as my breath froze in the air. In the distance I heard the inn door open and its orange light spilled onto the frost nearby. I parted my lips and lifted my chin, breathing out plumes of steam, chuckling to myself when I sipped from the bottle.

"You can breathe actual fire, but that is what amuses you?"

I looked up behind me, Vilkas' silhouette cut out of the light; he'd changed from his armour too (a distinct advantage of the Wolf armour, designed as it was to come apart to accommodate unexpected 'shifting'). Dark trousers and light leather boots, and a leather jerkin over his loose shirt; it hugged his torso, something I rather enjoyed looking at… Even if it was always a little strange to see him dressed so casually.

He started to make his way down and I looked up at the stars, enjoying the light buzz.

"Simple things can have a fascination of their own. Something invisible you never even think about like breathing-" I gave another warm breath to the frigid air, watching the pale plumes swirl into one another, "Given some cold night air, and you see all that turbulence that actually happens."

There was a pause in the approaching footsteps. When Vilkas spoke he was no where near as charmed with the idea as I was.

"…What are they _teaching_ you at that College, you mad thing?"

"Hey, allegories and metaphor can be useful learning tools."

"And what's this metaphor teach you, how to catch cold?"

I looked up at him when he reached my side, and raised an eyebrow. "We don't get sick."

"Doesn't mean the cold can't hurt you." He took the bottle from me, drank back a dram then handed it back. "What are you doing out here?"

"Hm. Fresh air." I shrugged a little, indicating out to the view with the bottle. "And with full moons, it's the best night to take everything in."

We stood for a long moment, looking out over the view, and soon Vilkas mused quietly.

"How did Cyrodil compare?"

"Eh, it's beautiful… greener, warmer. But it doesn't have Skyrim's… _terror._ " I glanced up at Vilkas the moment he smirked.

"Aye, the deadliness does add to her beauty. I don't often enough stop to admire it."

It wasn't only admiration, but a quiet pride in his expression as he looked over the frozen kingdom. His warpaint had been almost totally washed away, though parts remained inning his pale eyes; it gave him a younger air, a sort of… nakedness. The cold moonlight cast an icy hue over the, hard-cut planes of his face and that premature line between his eyebrows from so often frowning. He could have been carved from the earth and ice of Skyrim itself…

Vilkas nodded, indicating across the wide valley to a familiar mountain.

"Shearpoint. Those were the forests Skjor and Kodlak took me to on my first hunt; I felled an elk and damn near lost it to a bear - the hide was damaged, but, that was the first feast I brought home to Jorrvaskr."

"How old were you?"

"It was my thirteenth summer… Farkas was taken out a few weeks later."  
 _"Thirteen?_ They must have been impressed."

He leant over a little as if to confide a secret, "Thirteen is not unusual in Skyrim, Lyri. But Kodlak _did_ retell the story well, and often. Helped me to tan the hide even with the damage in it."

His gaze became distant at the memory of our Harbinger, the smile fading as we both remembered what waited at Jorrvaskr when we returned. That cloak of melancholy wrapped around us both.

"…That I could stop the sun from rising tomorrow," He murmured quietly.

Maybe it was the camaraderie that had grown since the night before, or the few drinks that had relaxed me. Maybe it was the beautiful scenery that could make one feel so isolated. Or maybe it was seeing the pain he tried again and again to keep hidden; his pain, reaching out and touching my own.

I went to Vilkas' side, wrapped my arms around his middle, and gave a gentle squeeze. His whole body tensed at the gesture, not one the hardened Nords were prone to giving in to. But then, I wasn't a Nord. Once my arms secured around him, and the warmth of his body leeched into mine which only drew me in further.

"…He was proud of you," I said quietly, "He would be proud."

"Prou- Lyrielle, no," Vilkas pulled back to look at me, "Kodlak wouldn't ever condone what I-"

"That's not what I mean. I know he wouldn't agree about Driftshade, but he'd also know that no person is perfect and even so, _you_ still try to be."

Vilkas let go of a long breath through his nose, his eyes still tight as he looked back out into the distance. Then almost resigned, slowly pulled me back properly into the embrace, his hold tightening when he felt the coldness of my forearms and he grumbled and scolded me about not having a cloak. My cheek was pressed to his chest, and a surprised smile crossed my face.

There was a very particular pleasure that came from simply being near someone, being tucked under an arm and held… Vilkas had a thick and broad chest, the muscle beneath firm as stone from a lifetime of training, and alluringly warm which only added to the comfort. The masculine scent too drew me in, another of those incomparable auras that could only have been described as 'him'. I wondered if the wolf in me recognised his bloodline…?

I felt a pleasing prickling over my scalp as Vilkas rubbed my back a little, fingers catching in my loose hair.

"…You're a good woman, Lyrielle. I was wrong to call you cruel."

A smile curled at my lips, the desire to see him smiling returning.

"Why? I was only speaking for Kodlak. Personally? Can't stand the sight of you, not one bit-" my words cut off when he started scruffing his knuckles on my head making me laugh and try to wrestle away, but I was caught in an iron grip.

"Ah, your sarcasm got you into trouble at last?" he chuckled darkly.

"You're a bloody brute!" I tried to hide my laugh, squirming and pulling his wrist down - at the very moment I twisted to look up at him his face had turned to me, and I felt his lips graze the corner of my mouth. We both became still at the sudden intimacy… and it only became harder to move as the moment grew.

I could feel the ebony locks of his hair brushing my cheek like feathers. His stubble prickled roughly on my mouth… There was a fluttering inside my rib cage, my lips parting with a quiet breath-

With only the smallest movement Vilkas sought them out, softly, slowly pressing his lips to mine…

My eyes slipped closed, each sensation drawing me in. I lifted my chin to return the touch, tasting the trace of honey and feeling the soft scratch of his stubble, my body softening in his hold, still firm around me.

The neck of the glass bottle slipped from my fingertips, and fell to the peat with a soft thud.

That very first kiss was a long while to break, lips slow and reluctant to pull apart. I barely opened my eyes, in a daze and still close enough to taste the warm tides of his breaths. It couldn't last long, before any sense returned I'd reached up for him again the moment he pulled me in, a soft sigh leaving my throat. There was a sharp but pleasing tingle low in my body, flashing there again when Vilkas lightly drew his tongue across my lower lip. I met it with my own, sharing the warmth, that sweet honeyed taste…

My fingers curled into the collar of his jerkin as our embrace deepened and quickened, the intensity finally waking something in my mind.

"We- we're kissing-" I mentioned breathlessly between those that were lighter, more feverish. When Vilkas replied his lips feathered mine with his words.

"Aye. Well spotted, woman."

With a release of a breath, the caress of his kiss returned and I closed my eyes with a pleased purr. Vilkas began stepping forward causing me to move back; his hand cupped my face, fingers inching into my hairline when my back thumped lightly into the rough bark of a tree trunk. My hands slid up over the leather over his chest, fingertips digging slightly to feel muscle hard as stone beneath.

The need only seemed to increase with every touch, something never satiated and soon it was difficult to be gentle or soft as the fire between us grew. Vilkas growled lowly, the deep purr making something tighten hot and low in my body. I snaked a hand around to the back of his neck, nails digging in to hold him close, to thrust my tongue against his.

My pulse throbbed right through my skin at the sensation of his hard muscle heavy on me, but Gods, his kiss… my tongue slipped against his, fighting with him, burning the memory of his taste into my mind. That warm, sweet taste… I wanted more, and straining on my toes to reach.

With a small gasp he tore the kiss apart, the ache of disappointment short lived when he grabbed me hard by the hips and lifted me like a doll, my skirts scrunching up my legs; his body was flush against mine and he pinned me to the tree, the exquisite pressure over every inch of my skin, my legs guided to wrap around his hips. We were eye to eye now, both starting to breath heavily… his eyes were… I'd never really looked properly before, or perhaps I'd just never been close enough to see, they were like blue ice shot through with silver. I couldn't quite remember what they reminded me of…

Suddenly I realised it; the bickering, banter, petty jabs at one another, arguing and antagonising… _this_ was what had been simmering under the surface…

He brushed his calloused thumb over my bottom lip, savouring the moment when we joined again, the viciousness melting away. I can't say what came over me… if was I sharing in his pain and needing comfort, or we'd had that one cup of drink too many… either way, it was difficult to care.

The thought made me growl and couldn't stop myself biting his bottom lip when he pushed in to kiss me again - it surprised him but to my relief, in a good way, drawing out a groan. His hand ran up my side, over my bodice and I shivered with dangerous pleasure when his fingers hesitated over the soft mound of my breast. I arched into the touch, trembling when he gently kneaded and my grip tightened through his hair… Vilkas moaned against my mouth again, hips pressing into mine and I could feel him growing hard against me, another shock racing to my core when he ground up between my legs.

I hunted down his jaw, his throat, and I felt that primal blood in me snarl at the his pulse throbbing under my lips. Hungrily I bit his skin, relishing the shuddering breath it drew from him-

"Aye you're a vicious one," he groaned but with such hunger, I wondered if he liked the pain, perhaps as much as I, admittedly, liked to cause it.

"You'd expect a dragon not to bite?" I nipped again, incapable of stopping myself from drawing the skin and firm muscle of his neck harder into my mouth. Vilkas hissed though didn't pull away, even when my lips and teeth finally released, revealing the hot, purple bruise beneath.

He pushed me hard back against the tree, his forehead pressed against mine and growled his threat.

"You'd better heal that…"

"I think it suits you."

"Oh?" he pushed my skirts up off one leg, the cold air making my skin prickle and I gasped a little… then shivered at the feeling of his fingers tracing up my thigh, tentative, teasing. The anticipation swirled in my stomach to the point of distracting me from caressing my lips to his, till they only brushed with breathless impatience. A small part of me warned me to push him away, to not let this get out of hand, but it was being drowned out by a hundred other desires and sensations that were too exquisite to give up.

Another shiver and rush of goosebumps raced over my skin when Vilkas reached around under, his fingertips ran along the edge of my underwear; I slowly thrust my tongue against his, legs tightening a little… Taking the cue, his fingers slipped under the damp fabric..

I broke the kiss with a soft gasp, back arching from the tree at the exquisite sensation as Vilkas slowly stroked me. He buried his face into my neck, nipping and kissing at my skin as my chest heaved with shuddering breaths. Vilkas kept exploring, finding those movements that would make me shudder and it was getting harder and harder to hear the doubts in my mind, clouded by the shocks pulsing through my core.

Our eyes met for only a moment when he pulled back from my neck, but a moment that slowed in time, where the entire world had shrunk down and I swore I could hear my own heart thudding within my chest. What was wanted and needed was unspoken but written so plainly on us both; his forehead leant on mine and every muscle in his body tremored with restraint.

"Should we be doing this?" He rushed breathlessly. My mind stumbled to and fro but found only one answer.

"Definitely."

Our mouths crushed together in an instant.

My hand moved the same time his did, clumsily tugging at the fabric of his trousers as I heard him rip the seams of my own thin undergarments. There was hardly space between us but I wormed my hand down, my curiosity burning too hard; I had to know him, know what he felt like… Vilkas drew in a long breath when I touched him for the first time and my heart pounded. Thick, rock hard, and throbbing with each stroke of my hand… and gave me enough pause to wonder if Breton girls were really built to couple with Nord men.

The thought was stolen when I felt him brush me intimately, hot, hard, enticing… sliding along my aching sex… I brought both my hands up to snake around his neck and trembled, his searing, shuddering breath pouring over my skin… Vilkas thrust slowly against me sending shocks of bliss racing through my middle, his face buried into my hair. He moved so slowly, so carefully, perhaps he'd had the same doubts as to our fit. But I tightened my legs on him, lost to sensation, only aware of what I wanted.

And he knew it… he pulled back a little to meet my eyes, slipping deeper this time, slowly pushing into me…

A small, high noise escaped my throat, feeling him stretching me, filling me more and more as he pushed; I could hear him swear, every muscle in his body tense and hesitant… then he finally thrust deeply, filling me. A low, guttural groan poured out of him, or maybe from me, his face burying into my neck while I arched from the tree, stars dancing a moment before my eyes when he found something, something deep in me that tore my whole body with an amazing, unknown sensation - it stole my breath, my nails dug into his skin-

Vilkas paused, holding me tight and breathing so heavily he could barely form words; "Am I hurting you-?"

"N-no," I breathed quickly, legs wrapping his hips tightly, "Vilkas don't stop-"

He didn't, without even a moment's hesitation drew out only to thrust up deep and slow again, and again, hands gripping my hips to the point of marking as he took me. Each stroke was a slow, exquisite torture, feeling every inch each time he pressed inside, burying to the hilt.

"Gods, you're tight…" he moaned almost painfully; the only response I could conjure was to crush my mouth onto his, sliding our tongues together as we panted, my name forming on his lips. It was impossible to compare it, the feel of him inside me and each hard grind, the friction, my back scratching against the rough tree, the animal way we clawed to be as close as we could…

Each time urged the intense pleasure so far to a point it threatened pain. I couldn't stop myself, the feel of his hair between my fingers made me squeeze and pull, the heat from his already bruised lip tasted too sweet not to bite again; there was a faint coppery taste the moment I did and Vilkas grunted in pain. Whatever leash that had been holding back the last of his self control snapped.

I was all but crushed back against the rough tree trunk and his pace suddenly quickened, his low voice growling in my ear hungry words without thought-

"You little savage…"

Something like anger bubbled in me but a completely alien kind… one that felt good, and I pulled his head back with a fistful of hair. His mouth dropped open with a strangled moan, but nothing he did tried to stop me or himself.

"You _like_ savage-" and like a starved animal I took my teeth to him, nails scraping him and leaving their fresh red marks. He swore and moaned long and low, and I knew that for Vilkas, without doubt pleasure and pain collided in his mind, no sense where one ended and the other started.

It made my head swim… till something even more powerful started building in my core, the gasp forcing me to let go.

"Vilkas-" I whimpered

"Quake for me," he breathed through desperate panting, "Gods, Lyrielle quake for me… let me feel it…"

I was blinded by it, being driven closer and closer to something, each thrust, each pulse flooding my body with fire, more and more, till I thought I'd somehow break- and then I did.

It stunned me, the unyielding shock, perfect bliss hammering like waves through my blood; a long, shuddering keen of utter ecstasy pouring out of my lips, driven on and on by Vilkas. His weight fell onto me when he too cried out, pushing up hard and shaking as he held himself there, new, thick heat spilling inside… his thrusts began to slow till finally he slumped forward, both of us breathing heavily, and I, utterly lost to sensation.

My mind was, for the first time in my life, blissfully silent. Every muscle in my body was melting, still charged with whatever that sensation had been; I was looking up through the canopy of pine to the dark skies and few hidden stars high above, twinkling in the most perfect way…

Only the rough feeling of Vilkas' stubble on my cheek, as his lips worked their way to my mouth brought me back to earth. After a brief kiss, he slowly pulled out of me and I gingerly let my toes touch the mossy ground, though he still towered over me, leaning a little on the tree. I didn't mind the pressure; I wasn't much in the mood for moving.

"That was… unexpected…" Vilkas' words were no more than a soft whisper, we were still both trying to catch our breaths. I had to smirk a little.

"To say the least…" My legs were like netch jelly and buckled, and he was quick to catch me under my arms and we both gave an awkward, airless laugh.

"Easy there," he warned as I found my feet, fumbling to straighten out my skirts. He touched his fingertips to his lip, drawing it back to see a speck of blood. He quirked an eyebrow when he looked at me, bemused.

We did what little redressing there was to do in silence; for my part it was because my mind was still a hazy mess, and I felt a little awkward trying to walk. Vilkas seemed amused (dare I say, a little proud?) but did take my arm when it seemed I might stumble. My underwear, I found on the leaf-littered ground, and I frowned when I picked them up. The ties at the side hadn't been undone; they'd been broken clean off. Damn.

"Can you not undo knots?" I muttered; he glanced at them and I swear for a moment there was colour on his cheeks; we both laughed awkwardly.

"Apologies… we uh, should probably get back up to the inn."

"Mmhm…"

We really didn't say anything as we made the walk back up from the lake; I was still in a glorious daze and my legs were weak. Now and then I'd stumble in the dark but to my surprise Vilkas would be swift to grab my arm and keep me righted.

By the time the warmth of the inn welcomed us I could feel his essence running half way down my thighs, and through the dizzy haze a little reality began to whisper. I could still smell him over my skin and clothes, my lips still red and swollen.

"…Vilkas, I'll need a few moments," I said, halting us as I indicated to the room. His gaze followed with a flicker, then nodded.

"Of course. I'll uh, see if I can find a drink of water."

With an awkward smile and nod I moved quickly to the room, closing the door behind me and leaning against it. A breath beat out of me and I smiled incredulously, replaying what had just happened in my mind and shivering with warmth. My lips moved in a near-silent whisper to myself.

"Well... _that_ just happened."


	4. Scar

**This may be the final chapter, so thank you all for the reviews, follows and favs. This story was always meant to be a sort of "Bottle Episode" restricted to the journey, and the protagonists bubble. That being said, there's also plenty more to happen between now and To Break A Curse...**

 **Either way, I hope you've all enjoyed, and the feedback is always welcome.**

 **Oh - More NSFW, by the way.**

* * *

 **VILKAS**

 _Whiterun was drowned in grey. Smoke and black charcoal stained the snow, and ash filled the air as the ruins of the city silently smouldered. Signs of life were rare; you were either dead, or competing to live._

 _I crept low through the dirty frost, eyes following the tracks of a dire wolf. A rust coloured female the size of a pony prowled through the ash ahead of me, scavenging for food in the ruins or a dead body to gnaw on. It was good to kill a bitch for the same reasons it was wrong to kill a doe; a dead one meant fewer offspring brought into the world._

 _I drew a silver arrow silently, knocking it onto my bow and drawing back till the blue fletches feathered my lips. Her ears pricked and head lifted- I fired._

 _The wolf gave a high-pitched yelp and faltered back when my arrow thudded between her ribs, and off she ran. Glaring after my prize, I sprinted through the ashen streets to chase her._

 _Another arrow drawn, aimed, fired as I ran. The wolf cried and stumbled over, tumbling along the ground before hobbling along. Other hunters were nearby now, closing in to try and steal my kill. I fired again._

 _…And again._

 _And again._

 _Each time drew a yelp of pain from the creature but I couldn't kill it; soon I just wanted it to stop, wanted the rending howls from the wounded animal to end. She stumbled along to a halt, standing hunched over on thin, shaking legs and whimpering. The other hunters closed in with glinting arrows and spears, raised and ready to end the dire wolf's life._

 _Suddenly a huge black shape leapt down on them with a vicious roar, its teeth gnashing and snapping, crushing their bones and tossing them aside in bloody pieces. It stood over the other, and I quickly drew an arrow when it turned on me, both of us locking eyes, freezing._

 _The russet wolf lay on her side, my arrows sticking up from between her ribs as blood spread through her coat. The giant black beast stood over her, guarding its pack mate. He glared at me with frosty eyes and bared bloody teeth; his ribs and spine stuck out from emaciation making his shaggy fur spike. A broken chain and shackles hung from around his neck._

 _My hand trembled as I held the bow tense, the glinting silver arrow poised and aimed right between the black wolf's eyes, ready to fire if I could only loose my fingers._

 _"Kill it," Jergen said. Jergen the faceless man, who had suddenly appeared at my side, finally returned from the war. "Kill it before it kills you."_

 _A dark sense of foreboding filled me; every instinct told me not to shoot, that the beast had to protect its injured friend._

 _"It will kill you, Vilkas. Do it now!"_

 _I fired._

 _Blood stained my eyes red when a silver arrow thudded between them, cracking my skull open._

I woke so suddenly I gasped and jolted in bed. My heart hammered in my chest, and a cold sweat clung to my skin - then jumped a second time at the alien feeling of waking with another person next to me. Lyrielle was dragging herself out of sleep, no doubt rudely woken by me.

"Whassit-? Whasrong?" Her voice had that huskiness and soft crackle heard only in the earliest hours of morning. She was rubbing sleepy eyes she couldn't quite open properly, those curls a wild mess with locks flopping back down over half her face when she took her hand away.

"Nightmare," I answered shortly, mind still stumbling from thought to thought, then made myself sit up and pinched the bridge of my nose. Nightmares weren't uncommon… frustrating more than anything, as I knew I wouldn't be returning to sleep that night.

"Whadid you see?"

"Wolves," I answered hoarsely, and eventually Lyrielle sat up too; I think her intention was to hold or comfort me but really she just sort of slumped onto my shoulder and almost patted my back. Waking up quickly wasn't one of her strong suits.

I grasped at the details of the dream, feeling something important had been communicated, something I had to be warned about but like water running out of cupped hands I couldn't hold it. Image after image vanished till the only one left was me aiming a silver arrow at a black dire wolf, and a distinct thought not to fire. I'd seen the creature often enough in my dreams to know that he represented my own beast, beyond that, I discerned no meaning.

"C'mon… lay back down," Lyrielle gently urged and I eased back into the bed, eyes closing a moment as she stroked my hair. Part of me was distinctly relived she was alright; perhaps in my dream she'd been in danger? Just as I became aware of the gentle intimacy of her touch, she returned to her curled position under my arm. It gave a warm comfort that gradually helped slow my heart, let me relax back into the furs, and forget about the troubling dream.

It'd been a time since I'd laid with a woman. Not for want of prospective partners, but… in having to bind down and control the wolf, other parts of me had to be shackled. Blood-lust, anger, my volatile temper… and yes, even desires of the body and heart. Consequently whatever bond that grew with women I'd courted always felt so superficial, I'd sort of given up.

That's my own fault. I knew since my youngest age, my passions ran deep. Too deep. I demanded too much, more than could be given, and could never do anything by halves, so I became inclined to give out my apathy than burden a woman with my affection.

Well. Lyrielle had already drawn my furious temper out of me, seemed she'd succeeded in other hot-blooded urges…

I looked to the little woman scooped under my arm in that moment, starting to properly wonder how I found myself there… with _her_ of all people. Not a strange thing to think when only two days before we were at each other like adders. When we'd returned from the lake I'd not been sure those intimacies would be repeated or that she'd accept me into her bed…

But there we were.

What I had forgotten were the less carnal pleasures; the warmth of a bonny woman laying at my side, watching the soft rise and fall of her breast as she slept so peacefully.

Her eyes were closed, lips parted with soft breaths, her cheek against my chest. I brought my hand up to move a lock of those soft curls back from her face, grazing the line of her jaw. With her guard so dropped she looked deceptively delicate. Sweet, vulnerable, even.

"Nothing but trouble, aren't you?" I murmured, yet so quiet I can't be sure I truly made noise. My other hand trailed lower and stroked lazily up and down her side, enjoying the dip of her waist and round rise of her hips. Her breath drew in and still in a state of half-sleep, stretched herself right along my side, pressing closer with a pleased little smile. I had to smirk, continuing the light scratches up and down her side and back.

"Aye, that's a weakness, is it?"

Lyrielle's only response was a half-conscious 'mmph', and the prickle of gooseflesh on her bare skin. I kept her close, watching her sleeping expression through the thick darkness.

There's been many things that little woman had stirred within me but not a single one could be called 'apathy'. They ran the course from frustration or derision to awe, anger, sympathy, gratitude… desire. This was the moment something infinitely more tender was kindled; true endearment. I didn't know it then, but the vexing little thing had carved herself into my heart.

But those sapling feelings of love were too easily pushed aside the moment my mind turned to what the rest of the day held. We would return to Whiterun, then Jorrvaskr… and the Companions would be ready for Kodlak's funeral by the time night fell. The day was coming. Soon I'd have to face it.

"Vilkas? S'rong?"

Lyrielle had stirred and blinked up at me, and I wondered if I'd tensed that much. I'd also stopped scratching her back.

"…Wondered what the hour was. I thought I heard a lark sing."

"It was a nightingale… not a new day yet," She whispered, resting her cheek on my chest, fingers tracing patterns over the scars that criss-crossed my body. She had said she liked them.

"Mm? They teach ornithology at that College now?"

"The inn-keeper isn't awake yet, dolt."

It drew a chuckle out of me and I pulled her up onto me; both hands lightly grazed up and down her spine and Lyrielle let her legs fall either side of mine. My eyes closing awhile as hers did, simply enjoying the weight and warmth of her petite body, and the hills of her full curves under my touch. The roundness of her backside began to draw the most attention… also for her slow squirms and soft purrs, the warmth of the inside of her thighs.

Even half in the realm of sleep the blood ran hot, and I grew hard against her, encouraged by the feathered kisses she left over my collar bone as she began to wake herself. Her hips rolled and manoeuvred, till I felt myself pressing slowly against her opening, the shudders and shocks of barely nudging inside her making me feverish and rousing me further out of sleep.

Then without warning she was pushing back down, slowly sinking me inside her. Not so soaked as the night before, each inch was intense in its friction and her core was tight; I know it drew a too-loud groan out of me… but damn, I felt like a God when I was in her. Holding her close I could bury my face into her hair and drink in that sweet, now familiar scent.

It was… different this time, than the times before. No curious uncertainty, no feral, animal hunger. We stayed wrapped in our tangled, half-sleeping embrace, hips grinding against one another until I felt like I had become a part of her… I liked having her straddled over me, seeing how she moved to take her pleasure. There was some core spot within her that was soon pressed with every thrust; her whole body would shake for a beat, then tense as she held me inside and at points the heat of it was so much I had to hold her hips still to stop spilling in her too soon.

When we kissed it became clumsy and breathless, our pace rising. She would whisper my name, and there could not have been any sound sweeter… I felt her pulling back and reluctantly let her, to be rewarded by the sight of her straddled over my body, her head dipped back, and her full breasts bounding slightly with her movements, begging my touch.

"Gods you're beautiful…" the words fled me with any rational thought as she drove me further to the brink, "L-Lyrielle, I can't hold on-"

Her little hands covered mine over her breasts as her pace suddenly picked up along with her soft mewls, "Don't- don't hold back…"

If she said any more I didn't hear it over my own low cry, loosing deep in her as she tightened and throbbed around me, wetness flooding us and the furs beneath. Arcing off the bed I tensed with every intense spasm, holding her hard there even when it all slowly subsided, my mind falling blissfully silent.

Lyrielle slumped forward on my chest, panting softly and my arms found their way around her. Quiet hung in the air for a while while senses returned, and I had began to soften within her… reluctant to actually pull out.

"…I didn't know it could be like that," Lyrielle whispered, her eyes barely open, cheek resting on my chest as she stared into the distance. My fingers wound locks of her hair between them; the truth was, I didn't know laying with a woman could be like this either, experience of either of us aside. What happened when our bodies joined… it too intense to be usual. From the first time I'd kissed her some kind of gravity had been realised…

I couldn't think of a way to answer, instead pressing a kiss to the top of her head, the relaxing warmth of release easing her back into sleep, and myself to dozing.

Eventually, the first slivers of morning light _did_ break through the cracks in the walls, and somewhere outside, the lark _did_ begin to sing. Sleep hadn't come back to me, but until I saw the morning light I hadn't wanted to move.

Lyrielle slept soundly next to me, her head rested in the crook of my shoulder. I slowly turned her, easing her down and with a mumble she rolled over and huddled back down into the furs. Her face drew my eye for a long moment, following the soft profile; the snub shape of her nose, the full mouth. It felt natural to want to look at her - who wouldn't? But since I'd come to understand her better, I got a lot more enjoyment from it. Those faults I'd accused her of no longer seemed so unforgivable, knowing where she'd come from, knowing what other qualities she possessed.

…To think she'd been made to feel so alone, after all she'd given… Something powerfully protective stirred deep in my chest. I was about to reach out to let my fingers run over her hair-

 _'Careful.'_

My hand froze mid-reach, and that old warning voice rose to the front of my mind.

 _'It's just good sex. This happened too fast to actually be anything. Do you think_ her _feelings to you would have changed so suddenly?'_

I drew my hand back, and turned away to get up from the bed, going to splash some water over my face. Other rationalisations invaded my head till my hands scrubbed water over something sore on my neck. With a curious pause I picked up the reflective silver plate provided, turning my chin this way and that as I looked at the blurry reflection.

Two… no, three wine-red marks on my throat… and the faint burn of scratches dug into my shoulders and back. The corner of my lips lifted in amusement.

"You… ferocious little thing…" I murmured, glancing over at Lyrielle's petite form snuggled up under the furs. I didn't mind the pain; there are moments where I've simply learned to embrace it, enjoy it even, and having her was one of them.

Though, lovers bites were always tricky to hide… Sighing I dragged on some clothes for the meantime, slipping from the room and back into the hall.

Hadring was up by then, fixing a pot of oatmeal and when he saw me ladled a large serve into a bowl, and dropped in a spoonful of snowberry jam. For such a quiet place he was generous with his hospitality; I could only imagine that Orc must have paid well for his room here.

"Will the young lady be having breakfast soon?"

"Aye," I replied, setting down at the bar and getting started, "Long road to Whiterun ahead, she needs her rest."

"Mhm. Worn out, huh?" Hadring said slyly and I shot him a look from under my brow. He just chuckled to himself, going about his chores. Ah well. Wouldn't be the first innkeeper kept up by his guests, though I didn't like the thought of him possibly embarrassing Lyri.

It was a while before she emerged, though was dressed, properly awake and following her nose to breakfast. Seeing me she smiled but the tensity that told me she wasn't sure how to act. Neither did I for that matter; daylight has a way of transforming things.

"G'morning." She sat up at the bar, and Hadring served her without dry comment. After he'd gone, she nodded to me, "Did you get back to sleep at all? After the nightmare?"

"No, but I'm used to it."

Quiet returned, so we focused on our breakfasts. Eventually, I noticed Lyrielle leaning a bit and inspecting my throat.

"Uh," she had her hand out awkwardly, then huffed a little sigh, "Alright, sit still a moment."

I did as asked; some of that golden light wisped from her fingertips, and gradually the heat of her scratches and bites vanished. My skin tingled not from the magic but in anticipation of the touch - one that never actually came.

The healing light snuffed out and I rubbed at my neck, now unmarked. I smirked, "I'd thank you, but considering where the bruises came from…"

"You're welcome either way," she shook out her hands, and took a moment to crack a knuckle or two and squeeze some pressure points on her wrists; perhaps that had something to do with the flow of magic.

"Sorry… if I uh, hurt you," she broached after a moment, a shade of guilt over her eyes. The contrast of her attitude was a little amusing, sweet, even.

"Come now; it'd take a lot more than some bites and scratches to actually hurt me."

"Heh, well that's a relief…"

Another silence, not helped by the memory of her sharp nails actually inflicting the damage, a moment so primal and intense it set my blood to flame-

 _Snow, knitting, drauger, taxes._

"We should be on the road soon," Lyrielle decided, before drinking deeply from a pewter cup of cold water, "Do you need a hand with your armour?"

"I manage it fine by now," I replied swiftly, "Well, sometimes the rerebraces give trouble… I'll bring your pack out to the stable."

She nodded quickly, and I retreated to the room to get armoured; I wasn't too proud of how easily my mind was distracted, but I trusted it would lessen with some time.

* * *

When I eventually rounded the corner to where the horses were stabled, I heard Lyrielle before I saw her. She had a handful of fresh hay and was currying it over the dapple's coat, nickering at the beast and talking the quiet, gentle nonsense one might to a child. There was something I enjoyed about it, though I couldn't say what.

"…What is it you like about that one?" I wondered aloud as I set the packs down, fiddling with my right rerebrace to try and get it to sit right.

"I'm not sure. Her coat reminds me of the road to Winterhold, trampled snow. I think she could use the affection, she does appreciate it…" Lyrielle clicked and tutted at the old mare while she brushed, and cooed, " _Brit fo key,_ aren't you?"

"Maybe you simply have an affection for broken and discarded things," I muttered, pressing my upper arm against a stable post to steady it while I attempted to tighten one of the buckles. Lyrielle dropped her handful of hay to the ground, brushing hands off and coming over.

"Give it here…" She ducked under my arm despite barely needing to, and pulled the piece into place over my bicep. "Hm.. I think some of the leather here was stretched out at Driftshade, needs replacing when you get back."

I had reluctantly held my arm out for her, but discovered there was something enjoyable about being adjusted and tidied, and seeing Lyrielle felt entitled to do so. The new kind of intimacy made me broach the subject that weighed in the air.

"Lyrielle… about last night."

I heard her draw in a breath, and she tightened a buckle; "Mmhm?"

"I didn't want you thinking I was the sort of man who… drags women off into the forest, or beds a shield sibling any other night. So what happened last night, it wasn't…" _Wasn't what? Why had I started talking without knowing what I was going to say? She's tensed up, say something-_ "I didn't want you thinking that I, or, that we-"

"Vilkas, it's alright," Lyrielle interjected quickly, and finished with the adjustment she stepped back quickly, cheeks darkening. She quickly moved to start strapping the riding blanket and her pack to the dapple, so I was unable to meet her gaze as she spoke.

"The past weeks have been hard, and won't be made easier any time soon. We both needed an escape." She then added with a little playfulness, "So don't panic, I'm not falling in _love_ with you, and not dragging you to the Temple of Mara at knifepoint."

She gave me that sweet smile, and made light of that awkwardness between us… so I chose to ignore that faint feeling like someone had just hit me in the stomach, and smirked at her.

"Strange little thing…" I finished strapping my pack to the bay horse, "I wonder how you'd have done cleaning house for me and cooking pies?"

"If you'd make me cook for you I'd slip nightshade in your dinner."

"If I were stuck with you as wife, I'd eat it."

Quiet resumed as we finished readying the horses. Seeing Lyrielle hopping to clamber onto the dapple's back, I walked around her horse to lift her again, as I had back at Driftshade. But the moment my hands slid around her narrow waist, the images from the night before burned to the front of my mind: having stood behind her as I did now in that small room and slid the skirts from her hips, watching them pool on the floor around her ankles, her skin softly glowing in the candlelight-

I hurried then to lift her and set her on the damned horse. It didn't help that her heart was beating faster too. She cleared her throat.

"I think if the horses are up to it, we could make good enough time to only stop once before getting back to Whiterun."

"Aye. Canter them when we reach flatter ground." I only spoke for the sake of it. As I swung onto the back of the bay she had already turned her mount to start towards the road, and I kicked my heels in to urge my own along.

The road sloped downward from the frostier climate toward the Whiterun hold, pale skies promising another clear spring day and eventually a hot summer. It should have been an enjoyable ride, carving our way through the icy forests toward the familiar farmlands and moors, but any time I thought about how I wanted to be home, I remembered what was waiting for me there. Thinking of what had happened at Jorrvaskr left my heart painfully heavy and seeking other distractions.

The next thing readily to mind happened to be the woman riding ahead of me but that wasn't really a happier subject. Lyrielle's words echoed now and then in my mind; _"The past weeks have been hard… we both needed an escape…"_ Weeks. To her, those troubles included that Blade. My intense dislike of a man I'd never met surprised me; it bothered me that her attention could have been so caught up by someone who had proven his principles to be so lacking.

Where I couldn't be happy, I was determined to be relieved. Lyrielle had been clear, so neither of us had to worry about where we stood with one another. Better still, I felt no more animosity to her; it would surely make things easier and more harmonious in the future.

So, I breathed the icy mountain air in deep, the heavy horse plodding along quickly without encouragement or direction. Without any conversation between my companion and I, my mind was directed elsewhere, taking stock of my surroundings.

As the morning crept on, a melody caught on the wind drew me out of distraction, it was so out of place. Once my ears were pricked to it, I found with some surprise it came from Lyrielle herself. The tilt to her head and the was she occasionally mumbled or hummed suggested she didn't quite have all the words, only the tune.

Singing or marching songs were nothing new to travellers, least of all to the Companions but this was amusing. I'd never heard her before, but was pleased to now; her voice was clear and could find the higher notes of her song with ease. The melody was soft and melancholic but not one I recognised; when I urged my horse to catch up, I realised Lyrielle wasn't even singing in the common tongue.

 _"Bormah Grohiik lost kriivah naal ah,_  
 _Ved Grohiik vaat sos nahkriin._  
 _Rok nir fin ah, rok zaan 'kren sosaal'_  
 _Ved Grohiik, kaal daal hofkiin."_

It sent a chill down my spine… the language hearkened to something as old as the bones of the earth. Catching a glimpse of her faraway expression added to this unease; a thought she could see something ephemeral that I couldn't. As her song swelled the wind raced over the Whiterun moors, picking up her stray curls making them dance like flames.

"What song is that?" I rode up to move alongside Lyrielle; she seemed surprised at having been heard, then looked back to the road with a shrug to bring her back into her human skin.

"Just… making things up as I go."

"Was that the dragon language?"

 _"Geh."_ Her expression brightened, _"Zu'u unt wah tinvaak Dovahzul."_

I looked to her archly, "That's a lot of words for Yes."

"Well I don't get to speak it often with any sort of purpose, so I gave into the temptation."

"Ah… only the Dragons and Greybeards speak it?"

"I imagine so; it's been a dead language since the first era. But I pick it up quickly, and it feels right to speak it."

It was fascinating to hear the actual spoken words, not just the Shouts. Perhaps because the slight roll to the 'r', or the more guttural, broken tones reminded me of the difference between Nord accents and those found further south. As if the way we ourselves spoke was closer to that first language.

"I didn't know Dragons had songs… what was it about?" I asked.

"Nothing particular… just about what I've seen."

"Aye…" That could be just about anything, so I let it pass; she's piqued my curiosity elsewhere. "So, how would I greet someone in the Dragon tongue, then?"

She looked very pleased and smiled; " _Drem Yol Lok."_

"Drem, yollock," I repeated but she shook her head.

" _Yol, Lok._ "

"Yol, lok."

"That is the formal greeting - which is why the saying is formed like a shout. The direct translation would say, Peace, Fire, Sky."

"It's an interesting language…" The words had a good feel over tongue and lips, and I repeated them quietly but soon had to press for more. "But, it's a strange way of greeting."

"Mhm. The sentence structure is archaic but surprisingly simple; the vocabulary isn't too expansive… many regularly-used phrases are formed like that though. The beauty and power of it is in its raw simplicity, perhaps because so many of the words have literal magic."

I held back my smile; she was getting that slightly frenetic edge and her hands started emphasising the words, so I knew it was a favourite subject. What could I do but encourage it?

"Well, how would you introduce yourself?"

" _Zu'u Lah-Rii-Ul._ "

I blinked, "Lahriiul?"

"My _Dovah_ name." Lyrielle said this as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, but it wasn't something that had occurred to me and I blinked at her.

"I thought they called you Dovahkin?"

"Well, that's just what I am… Paarthunax thought up my name. They're also formed like shouts, so the meaning is in the three individual words of power. _Lah, Rii, Ul_. Magic, Essence, Eternity."

"…Like when you summoned that dragon?" I asked, and she nodded. What a way to make a name with meaning! "Hm. What do you think my name would be?"

"In Dovahzul? Oh… let me think a moment…" Lyrielle's eyes narrowed. As she started sounding out my name into three, rather than two syllables I began to feel there was more gravity to what I asked than first thought.

" _Vaal… viir…_ no not _viir_ , that means dying. _Vul? Vul Kah… So…_ " Her nose scrunched and she gave me an apologetic look, "I'll be honest your name is hard to translate into anything that is not depressing."

A short laugh beat out of my chest, "Somehow, it doesn't surprise. Do your best then."

"Hmm… _Viik-Ah-Zah…?_ " She looked me over, "No."

"What was wrong? It sounded about right."

"Maybe, but the words need to suit you too… _Vul-Kah-Sil…?_ " She peered at me again, then back to the road ahead. "Hm. Maybe before, when I liked you less."

"Oh? Why, what did that mean?"

"Dark and prideful soul." She grinned, and I rolled my eyes, deciding to ignore the grain of truth in her translation. After a moment where only the whispering wind and trodding of the horses filled the air, she offered me an alternative.

"… _Vul-Kaal-Aaz._ "

We looked to each other, and she must have read my questioning expression so explained the words.

"Vul, meaning darkness… and let's be truthful you don't really have the sunniest disposition. Kaal, is champion or defender, which clearly suits you. And Aaz means mercy."

I pulled back at the last word, frowning. "…Aaz doesn't suit then."

"Maybe it should."

"But it doesn't."

"Well, _Aus_ means 'suffer' but I'm not giving you that one."

"Bah." I looked ahead to the farmlands we neared; a part of me still flattered she tried to work 'defender' into my title. "…Better not work it out too quickly, else Farkas will want to know his, then everyone in Jorrvaskr will."

Too late, she was already thinking it up and sounding out words.

"Fah… Hmm. _Faad… Kaaz-_?" She snorted a giggle and shook her head, "Gods no, that would mean warm cat-"

" _Wait_ wait wait… _no._ " I grinned and held out a hand to slow her horse, "No I don't get words like _dark_ and _dying_ and _pride,_ and Farkas gets compared to a warm kitten!"

She doubled over then in laughter, holding the horse's mane to keep from slipping off its back; her laugh was infectious and I shaded my eyes as the chuckles left me.

"I'm sure Farkas would be just as devastated," Lyrielle wiped at her eyes and sighed heavily; after a few moments we were able to compose ourselves and she cleared her throat. "Alright. Stick with 'Vilkas'; the _Dovah_ might not like you using a Dragon name anyway. Now, I wouldn't speak first. The elder always speaks first."

She indicated to pass the conversation to me, and I tried to recall the right words.

"Zu'u, Vilkas…?"

She smiled and gave a nod, " _Paaz shul grind._ A… fair sun shines on this meeting. Or simply Fair Sun Meet."

"Are the dragons always so formal?"

"It's beautiful, hm? Anything said in _Dovahzul_ is said with truth and conviction, and when words are so limited it's not a language you can mince. Well, they do have more informal phrases… _Pruzah sul! Lok Paaz?_ \- Good day, are you well?"

I tried linking the meanings in my mind. Shul being sun, sul perhaps meant day. Paaz, she'd said before meant fair.

"And I'd answer…?"

"Honestly, for one. Don't say you're well if you're not."

"I like these dragons more and more." I couldn't imagine the language being particularly useful; it was unlikely I'd ever speak with a dragon or the Greybeards.

Regardless, I decided to try it. "Pruzah, sul. Lok paaz?"

"If I'm well, _paaz lok_ , or _lostaan vah lok_. I have spring skies."

"And if you're not well?"

"Then your skies have clouds. _Lok lost gram_."

"Lok, meaning Sky."

"You catch on quickly. And you hear how the questions are really just statements phrased in reverse order?" Lyrielle had brightened, it was clear she was enjoying the opportunity to share what she knew. "So, why the interest in learning a dead language?"

I weighed the question, "Considering dragons have returned, I don't know we'd call it a dead language now. Even if that weren't the case, it's… fascinating. And unwise to forget something so critical to our past."

"You believe so?"

"One of the gravest mistakes a race can make, neglecting to study their past."

"Hmm… Perhaps more are concerned with looking to the future."

"Ah. But if you can draw the lines of the past to the present, you better predict how the world will be," I explained, recalling Skjor having said something like that to me once, "Most man doesn't think back any further than the history of their fathers, or grandfathers. We just assume we keep moving further forward, so the world before is worth forgetting. People are people. Doomed to make the same mistakes again and again, but if you're wise enough to see it coming, you'll know how to best weather the turmoil."

 _"Vahzah;_ I was right about that sunny disposition." She raised an eyebrow at me, "Predicting the future by knowing the past? Alright… How do you see the civil war coming to an end?"

 _'What a talent for putting me on the spot,'_ I thought, mouth pressing into a hard line. The road wove around the fields of a nearby farm, the first northern watchtower greeting us to the Whiterun hold. The construction, like almost every other fort or tower across Skyrim, was almost in ruins…

This damned war was bleeding the country dry.

"…The Empire was beneficial to Skyrim," I started carefully, "United many races, but made a common mistake… they forget about the people in the individual Kingdoms they built their Empire on. The people who built their cities, paved their roads, grew the grain that fed them, whose children fought and bled and died for them… Now when Hammerfell broke away, no one truly believed it would happen but it did. It put the seed of doubt into the other Kingdoms. Then Ulfric stood up from the ashes of the Markarth Incident and the White-Gold concordant, and promised the children of Skyrim he would fight for them where the Empire didn't."

"…Do you _support_ the Stormcloaks?" Lyrielle sounded almost offended, but I shrugged.

"No, but even if I did it's not a wise thing to sneer at those who do."

"Why shouldn't I sneer at them? I've seen the way they treat the Dark Elves in Windhelm, the Stormcloaks want to drive out anyone who's not a Nord," She shot back with surprising ire, and made it no secret there was something personal in the matter: "They ridicule and insult magic or people who value their brains over their brawn - despite having a wizard in every court, despite relying on those educated people as, as healers and lore-keepers and inventors, architects-"

"And they are very used to having… cosmopolitain, educated people looking down their noses at them and calling them stupid. What's the architect without the builders to stack the stone for him? Look… I'm not saying it would be a _good_ thing for Ulfric to become the High King of Skyrim and break away from the Empire, in fact it only invites disaster by furthering the fracture of Tamriel… Ulfric was a great warrior, but that wouldn't mean he'd make a great King."

Lyrielle was staring between the ears of her horse with a pensive frown. I sighed a little to myself, thinking on it all, "I got away with myself; you wanted my prediction. Agreeing with Ulfric or not… there was an army's worth of people in Skyrim who felt they had no say in their ruling or their destiny until Ulfric stood up to speak for them. It's not the first time in history a man with a great ego created a cult-following around himself, spurring his followers on with hatred and fear. Some will support him _because_ of that, others will in spite of it, because he represents a change they don't think they can get any other way… unless the Empire has a magic trick up its arse, Ulfric will win."

"The Dominion would love that… they already view Ulfric as an unwitting ally."

"Oh?" That caught me by surprise, "How exactly do you know that?"

"It was in their dossier on him at the Thalmor Embas- _ss_ -" the word ground to a halt between her teeth and she winced, "I shouldn't have said that."

What secret life of espionage did that little woman live! I shook my head at her, "You are the _worst_ spy I have ever heard of, first slipping about Paarthunax, and now, whatever you were doing at the Thalmor Embassy."

"Don't make it sound like I can't keep my lips sealed. Maybe I just trust you?"

Lyrielle had meant to snap, but ultimately her words had been touching; I hadn't realised it till she said it, but her trust felt like a precious thing to have. I know it wasn't freely given.

A short silence had fallen before Lyrielle cleared her throat, picking up where the conversation had been dropped.

"So… by magic trick, the Empire would need either a very great weapon, a very great warrior or a rallying point that can actually compete with Ulfric."

"Exactly," I nodded, "Ulfric is a great Nord warrior making grand speeches about freeing his people and leading them to either glorious victory, or honour in Shor's Hall. General Tullius is a soldier who was sent here from Cyrodil to keep the Nords in line."

"Yeeey." Lyrielle made a sarcastic, weak smile and half pumped her fist into the air. "A hero all of Tamriel will know and love and sing of, ' _that guy from Cyrodil'_." She grinned and I had to chuckle, though something in her words rung in my mind.

"…A second prediction then," I ventured, "He'll come after you."

Lyrielle looked offended by the notion, her nose scrunching, "I haven't made allegiance known either way."

"That won't matter… you're the first Dragonborn since the end of the Septim bloodline, and a hero. They'll either find ways to fit you in to positions of power or influence… or recruit you as an actual soldier for the cause and make you their front woman. Return of the Dragonblood, a new age of the Empire, or… something like that."

Lyrielle looked like she'd argue for a bit but it joined together in her head too. She slumped in her saddle, then perked up at an idea, "…I'm not a Nord, though. So if the people are already mistrustful of foreigners, they won't be quick to rally around an outlander mage."

"…True, but, I believe those are also the sort of people who might overlook such things, because _you eat Dragon souls_."

Lyrielle laughed after a beat of surprise, nodding, "I've never heard it described like that before." After another short silence, her tone was far more serious, "I have no intention of being the Empire's marionette… but at some point, we're going to have to know who we stand with."

"The Companions don't involve ourselves with politics, and that's one of the reasons we're still here."

"And each Companion is their own, I know, but… what happens if when Balgruuf is forced to choose, he sides with the Empire? It means the Stormcloaks will attack Whiterun. And if the city comes under siege you know they won't be sitting around trying to starve us out, because the city isn't fortified properly. Three gatehouses and two baileys, good planning that becomes entirely redundant when they don't bother to even build ramparts let alone a proper fort wall. Knock a bit of that down and they're in."

I blinked, not having expected her to be so observant over things like the defences of Whiterun.

"The past years have been hard… Whiterun just doesn't have the resources for such construction. And it's possible Ulfric wouldn't make that approach; if he damages the city too much it'll make it harder to defend if the Empire tried to take it back."

"…But what would you _do?_ " She pressed with a frown. Hypothetical it may be, but so is any situation before it's a reality. I tried to imagine myself caught up in it; Whiterun was my home for as long as I could remember. Baalfgruf had been a good Jarl to us all. No matter the allegiance… I would have to protect my home from an invading force.

"I'd fight. For Jorrvaskr, for the people whose home was being invaded." I think the answer pleased her.

"Funny how often we think we're given a choice, only to find it's just the illusion of one." Lyrielle sighed, and looked about herself, starting. "…Is this Loreius farm? When did we get to Whiterun?"

"What-? Woman do you not mind your surroundings at all?!"

"Why? You're here."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, but the sound of her chuckle stopped me being frustrated for long. The air felt clearer, and I was reassured that the easy company we had over drinks before hadn't been an anomaly. We passed under the weaving shadow of the Loreius windmill and the road bent slowly around.

"Well I'll let you know if a dragon drops out of the sky, in case you miss it," I teased, but a voice got my attention; a short way up the road a horse and cart was pulled over, and a small man dressed in red and black was making a lot of noise, inspecting a wheel.

Quite unexpectedly, the wolf in me growled, and like that my nerves were on edge.

Lyrielle was already trotting ahead, and cautiously I squeezed my heels in to the horse's side to catch up. My unease about the scenario only increased when I got a good look at the little man…

"Is that a… Jester suit…?" I breathed, cringing. It was; black and red and even topped off with the ridiculous hat. Even his behaviour was erratic; he pulled at his hat and stomped his feet, and when he spoke, his voice tended to squawk and leap in pitch.

"Agh bother and befuddle! Stuck here! _Stuck!_ My mother, my p _oor mother!_ Unmoving! At rest, but too still!"

Lyrielle and I halted, and exchanged identical glances. The little man seemed oblivious to our presence till Lyri spoke.

"…Problem?"

He whirled on us, eyes wide and manic, "Poor Cicero is _stuck_ , can't you see?"

"Well, I mea-"

"-I was transporting my dear, sweet mother. Well, not her. Her corpse. She's quite dead."

Again we snapped glances to one another. While Lyri walked her horse around the wagon to inspect it, the strange little man continued.

"I'm taking mother to a new home. A new crypt. But… aagh! Wagon wheel! Damnedest wagon wheel! It's stuck, don't you see?"

It was, too; early spring rains from the days before had churned up much and made the roads uneven. His wagon had veered too far to the side of the road and the front wheel had dropped into a narrow trench of mud, bogged down.

"Is there some way we could help?" Lyrielle asked, and I started, just as the jester 'Cicero' did.

"Oh! Oh _yes,_ the kindly strangers can certainly help!" He began dancing a little jig and clapped his hands, "Cicero will reward you with coin! Gleamy, shiny coin!"

"Lyri, can I speak with you?" I asked, loudly. She caught the tone, and made her way over. My jaw clenched, and once in earshot I spoke to her in hushed tones.

"A Jester? In Skyrim? Gods know what he's actually carting around in that thing."

Cicero had skipped up onto the cart, and was talking to the huge crate on it. Lyrielle saw it too, but with a lot more sympathy than I had.

"People often need to move the bodies of their loved ones; they don't always die conveniently close to their family crypts."

"It's not that, it's…" I looked the little man over, "It's a feeling. He's not right."

"Well… maybe he is a little mad, but all the more reason to show him just a little compassion. Look, it's just helping him get his cart out of a ditch." She tried to catch my eye; I know she was right, it'd be wrong to leave someone stranded like this. But my nerves were on edge around him and I knew I didn't want a thing to do with the madman.

"It looks like it just needs to be lifted a bit for the horse to pull it out - there's no way I'd be strong enough to do that without you, even with the Jester's help." She leant over to catch my gaze, her round eyes softened, "C'mon… what would a Companion do?"

I squeezed my eyes, groaned, and slid off my horse, going over to the cart. Oh, I was well aware of what she'd done, even so, flattery and guilt made a winning combination.

Cicero squawked and danced, "Look mother, the kindly strangers will help us! Ooh we'll be _safe_ and _sound_ and homeward _bound!_ "

I growled inwardly.

Lyrielle instructed the Jester to drive the horse then joined me by the bogged wheel. I could see where he'd already tried to dig it out and pack the ditch in with dried grass, for all the good it had done. I sighed and braced my shoulder on the wagon, Lyrielle behind me.

"Alright," I huffed, "One, two-"

I pushed up hard on 'three', feeling the cart raise. The jester shrieked so manically at the horse it startled me and I dropped the cart, jarring Lyrielle's shoulder and she quickly snuck a little healing magic.

"Oohoo, careful down there!" The jester sing-songed, "Slippery-dippery!"

My answer was only to glare and re-brace, determined now to get this lunatic moving and away from us.

"One, two-"

I heaved upward with Lyri, the cart creaking as the Jester cried out at the horse.

"Onward great steed! _Onwaaard!"_

Muscles in my legs and shoulders strained and shook; if that giant box in the back really did have a coffin in it, I could swear it was made of stone. The wheel creaked and slowly turned and with a low grunt I pushed harder, inching up over the rise of the ditch.

At last the cart rolled forward and caught its own weight and I heaved out a hard breath, letting it go. Lyrielle had stumbled forward into my back a little; and that jester was over the moon.

"Huzzah! Freedom! Oh strangers! You have made Cicero so happy, so jubilant and ecstatic!" He danced about on the cart, kissed the wooden crate in the back, and started hunting about in a bag.

"But more! Even more! My mother thanks you! Here, here for your troubles, shiny, clinky coins!"

He tossed a coin purse down and I edged back from it, watching it land with a clink in the mud. Lyrielle eventually picked it up, giving the jester a nod as he waved to us.

"Thankyooou! Thank you again!"

Off he trundled up the road, squawking out a too-cheerful song. Lyrielle sat her hands on her hips.

"…He was weird."

I very slowly looked down at her, and she blinked up at me. "What? He was."

"You'll be the death of me."

She smiled and rolled her eyes, "Thank you for helping him. It was good of you." When I only grumbled in reply she turned back towards the horses.

"We've got some flat ground. You up for a canter?"

"…Aye." I stared after the cart still, incapable of shaking that uneasy feeling and not relieved till it was out of sight.

* * *

We crossed the farmlands of Whiterun at a good speed; it had been a long time since I'd been on horseback and that flying feeling had been sorely missed. The horses weren't very fast or able to canter for long and there was no reason at all to push them to a gallop, regardless, we covered good ground in that time.  
Resting atop the gently sloping hills in the distance sat Whiterun, with Dragonsreach palace perched at its zenith. The sight of home always made me hasten the last leg of any journey. Today however, we'd began to slow.

The stables and first gatehouse were in sight when we halted, moving off the road a little way to stop at a spring and refresh. Lyrielle had spotted it and was determined to go, so I curbed my impatience. Besides that, the water of the spring was sweet and icy cold, a welcome change from well water or melted snow.  
I ran the frosty water through my hair to push it back from my eyes, and took my time to fill the water-skin. Around the other side of the spring, Lyrielle was digging about with the end of her staff, pulling up a plant with yellow blossoms. She'd done similarly many times before, usually to dig up tubers from the water to eat. That plant didn't look edible though.

"What are you gathering there?" I asked. She flickered a look to me before continuing to pull up the plants.

"Tansy."

"That an alchemy ingredient…?"

"…Yes."

Odd. Wasn't aware she was a great practiser of alchemy. "Arcadia would probably have a stock of it."

"And she might not, so, better safe than sorry."

"What do you need it for?" I pressed, knowing I might have been pestering her about it. But my curiosity got the better of me, encouraged by her evasiveness.

"Make myself some tea later…"

"Isn't tansy poisonous?"

Lyrielle sighed a little, washing off the roots of the plant in the spring. "Yes… anything is poisonous in high doses…"

"Why are y-"

"It brings on a woman's flux," she finished shortly, giving me a look.

"…Oh." Right. Seemed obvious now I thought of it, we hadn't exactly been wearing armour last night. But even though I knew I'd better just stay out of women's business I did feel some worry, and responsibility.

"Arcadia might have something… safer. That plant is supposed to be toxic, don't make yourself sick."

Her annoyance from before softened, "Don't worry. It's used in other remedies without doing any harm. But if it'll put your mind at ease, I'll check with Arcadia…" Shaking water from the roots Lyrielle started back to the horses, and I followed at a distance.

For a fleeting moment, the thought inevitably crossed my mind of what an infant by her would be like. Black, maybe curly hair and storm-blue eyes appeared in my mind; it wasn't unusual for a man my age or even earlier to start considering his legacy, but soon I tried hard to push the image out of my head.

It had reminded me how I'd thought that, should I have a son or daughter (or, two or three), Kodlak would have been a grandfather to them. The bairns would have doted on him in his fading age, and he could love them without having to worry about discipline as he did with Farkas and myself as pups.

It hit suddenly, and hard.

"Vilkas…? We need to go now," Lyrielle's gentle words shook me from my dark reverie; I looked up to see her standing nearby with the horses reins at hand. When had I stopped walking? How long had I been lost in thought? I forced myself into moving forward again.

We walked with the horses to the stables, short distance as it was. I bound and unbound the bay's reins tight around my hand as I lead it.

"What caught your mind?" Lyrielle asked. I squeezed the leather rein.

"…I wasn't ready to start picturing a future where the old man wasn't there. Hadn't expected it." I steeled myself to the idea; there would be time soon enough to mourn, and to bid him a proper farewell, as the Companions had for many others before. Then perhaps a chance to know if his soul could still be saved.

"Kodlak will just be there in different ways," Lyrielle said softly, "He'll be the hero in the bedtime stories you might tell your sons before tucking them in."

Comforting words, if unnerving for their insight to what had been on my mind. The comfort couldn't last though, not with the funeral looming ahead, knowing that pyre would have to be lit.

At the stables we left the horses to the care of Skulvar Sable-Hilt before starting up the winding path through the gatehouses. My bones started to feel heavy; this was the first time I would come home from a mission, back into Jorrvaskr… and Kodlak would not be among the number to greet me. He never would be again.

Never again would I see him, or speak with him, or turn to him when I needed the guidance that only the man who raised me could give. Any sort of future I imagined had him suddenly missing from it. Kodlak… was gone.

My throat constricted and heat stung at the back of my eyes like a threat.

"Hey…" Lyrielle's voice was soft and her hand found mine, but I had to edge my fingers out of the light hold. _Gods, woman, don't give me kindness, not now_. She seemed to understand. I swallowed the pain in my throat and found my voice.

"…We should hurry. The others would be prepared for Kodlak's funeral."

"We're going to make this right, Vilkas." She looked ahead, steeled with determination and I understood what she meant. We weren't going to leave Kodlak's soul to Hircine's slavery. We were going to fight for him; we were going to find a way for us all.

We. The word actually sounded like it meant something now. Reaching the city gates, we stood side by side as the guards slowly dragged them open.

How backward the world became in three days… I had lost Kodlak, but in a small way, the pain was mitigated in gaining Lyrielle as my…

…As my what? Ally? Comrade? Friend? No word seemed to fit.

So I found myself content, that I had simply gained her.

"The Companions against a Daedric Prince," I mused, and shared a glance with the little woman.

"Of course," she said, smirking, "It wouldn't be fair otherwise."


End file.
